Kitty, or Beaux Idéal
by Eh Bien
Summary: Elizabeth Bennett once said, "Where Lydia goes, Kitty will follow." In fact, Kitty is a born follower. What happens to Kitty once Lydia's influence is removed from her life? The story begins a few months after Jane and Elizabeth are married.
1. The Bennets at Home

_"Family squabbling is the greatest evil of all."_  
><em>Mansfield Park<em>

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><p>The parlourmaid placed a tray containing the morning post on the breakfast table in front of Mrs Bennet, then quickly dropped a curtsey and withdrew before the barrage of pointless questions could begin. Like all good servants, she had learned to adapt quickly to the little peculiarities of her employers, sometimes for their greater comfort and sometimes, as now, for her own.<p>

Mrs Bennet passed along the letters addressed to her husband, retaining one directed to herself. "A letter for me? Who is it from?" The maid walked more quickly, pretending to be out of earshot. "What a pretty letter, too! Look at this paper, Mr Bennett, and the bright blue ink. I think the bright blue is rather stylish, although some consider it vulgar. The hand is rather like our Lydia's, but with more flourishes and little ornaments than Lydia was inclined to use. It must be from someone else; tho' I suppose Lydia might have altered her manner of writing."

"Your painful suspense could be easily brought to an end, Mrs Bennet," her husband responded, attempting to read his own morning correspondence.

She looked at him in puzzlement for a moment before taking his meaning and breaking the seal. A moment later she exclaimed, "Oh, it _is_ from Lydia!" She perused the letter a moment. "My dear girl writes that she is well, only rather bored at the moment, as there are no more dances to attend for some time to come."

On announcing that her letter came from her youngest daughter, Mrs. Bennet immediately had the full attention of her second youngest. Kitty turned eagerly toward her mother for news of her newly married youngest sister.

Mary, however, exhibited no such interest. "There is no reason to be bored for a lack of balls and parties," was her opinion. "Lydia is bored because she never developed any other interests. She should make a list of good books to read over the coming months."

Kitty ignored these outrageous remarks with her usual tact. "Are they getting on well with the other officers?" she asked her mother.

Mrs Bennet continued to scan the bright blue lines. "Yes, she says they are all great friends, although there was some quarrel recently between Wickham and another officer, over some trifle to do with money. No doubt it was over a wager; these soldiers take their card games so seriously."

Mr Bennet sighed, but added nothing to the observation.

"She asks after you, Kitty," Mrs Bennet went on. "She wonders if you might like to pay a visit in the near future, and see their home in the North."

Mr Bennet looked up at this. "My dear Mrs. Bennet, you know that is out of the question."

His wife seemed ready to dispute this, but chose to defer the argument to a better time. "She also asks after Jane and Lizzy, and is thinking of visiting Pemberley when they have the time."

Mr Bennet cleared his throat quietly, looking up momentarily from his own letters. "I hope they at least ask Lizzy or Jane to accept a visit, rather than simply arriving."

"Oh, I'm sure," Mrs Bennet answered vaguely, her attention back on her letter.

Kitty, however, had not yet abandoned the question of visiting her younger sister. "Papa, why could I not visit Lydia?"

Mr Bennet braced himself. Since Lydia's elopement, he had tried to adopt a firmer, more admonitory approach to Kitty, hoping to provide some guidance and offset Lydia's influence before it was too late; but it did not come naturally to him. He was accustomed to letting his wife have her way with the girls, and only the shock of seeing the effects of his negligence was enough to force him to risk conflict. "Because she is a bad influence on you."

"Oh, Mr Bennet!" his wife exclaimed. "How can you say so? Wasn't Lydia the first to be married?"

"Precisely my point." Mr Bennet waited until the maid had finished placing the milk pitcher on the table and withdrawn from the room. "Would you have Kitty follow the same path to matrimony her younger sister has done?"

"What can it matter, so long as it did end in matrimony?" Mrs Bennet replied. Her husband merely sighed once more and returned to his own letters.

The matter did not rest there. Mrs. Bennet continued to press the question. "You have barely let Kitty walk to town since our Lydia was married. Kitty is a young lady of an age to be out in society. How can you expect her to find a husband if she is never allowed to meet any young gentlemen?"

"Other young ladies find husbands, my dear, without having to travel to Newcastle to find them." Mr Bennet kept his eyes on his correspondence as he spoke. "Our two eldest daughters, for example, located perfectly adequate husbands within walking distance of home."

"Oh, but Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley coming into the area at the same time was a rare stroke of luck! We cannot count on more young single gentlemen turning up in the neighbourhood." Mrs. Bennet bit her lip, sighing deeply.

"If only they knew what an abundance of silly girls they'd have at their disposal," Mr Bennet said, folding up his letter, "they would certainly be arriving in droves. They should have to hire a charabanc for the purpose." He failed to notice his daughter Mary's slightly reproachful look.

"Mr Bennet! You are so unkind to your own flesh and blood! Our girls are certainly not silly! And besides," she added, with more accuracy, "there is no longer such an abundance of them, now that three of the five are married and gone away."

"True enough."

"And we cannot expect, either, that another regiment will be stationed in Meryton at any time soon."

"God forbid," her husband murmured.

"So there will be no officers."

Kitty sighed. "They were lovely in their red coats, and some of them so gallant!"

"And yet," Mr Bennet added, "they have all gone off without leaving behind so much as an insincere promise. Surely, Mrs. Bennet, we can look for more fervour in any prospective husbands of our remaining daughters!"

His wife knew better than to pursue this. "What if they were to spend more time with dear Jane? And with Lizzy? It would introduce them to Mr Bingley's friends, and Mr. Darcy's; and even you, Mr Bennet, cannot object to their visiting their older sisters."

Since Lydia's elopement, Mr Bennet was not sanguine about sending Kitty off anywhere, even to stay with Lizzy. "Well, we shall see about that," he said evasively.

After breakfast, Mary began practicing on the pianoforte, but Kitty induced her to leave her music behind at mid morning and walk to Meryton. There was no real purpose to the outing beyond buying a pair of bootlaces, but Kitty found regular trips to town held her boredom in check. "It's so dull at home since Lizzy moved away," she sighed.

Mary overlooked this slight to the company of Kitty's remaining family, including herself. "You might find it less dull if you did more reading," she suggested. "I find it makes the time pass more than most occupations. Or you could take up music."

"I'm too old to start learning to play now," Kitty objected, "and I do read, when it's raining out or there's nothing else to do."

This cavalier dismissal of the value of literature was also overlooked. Mary no longer expected to have much influence over her younger sister. "At least the warm weather will allow for longer walks." The spring rains had stopped, and dry, sunny days were becoming more common.

"Yes," Kitty sighed, as one who welcomes what small consolations are available to her.

"I could teach you music, if you like."

"Oh, Mary! I'm too old to start learning to play!" Kitty repeated irritably.

Mary made one further attempt. "Perhaps you could take up your needlework again. You seemed to enjoy it at one time."

"Jane used to help me," Kitty recalled. "She showed me how to hem and embroider pocket handkerchiefs." She sighed again at the loss of her two elder sisters.

"I'm sure you could continue very well without her by now."

"Perhaps. I wonder how Lydia is getting on in the north. I wish I could go to visit her, but Papa will not even consider it."

"Very right, too," Mary could not help but say. "Kitty, I think you do not realize how serious a matter Lydia's elopement was. If it had not been for our uncle's intervention..."

"Mary, I have had enough of that from Jane and Lizzy. I think they are just jealous because Lydia was first to marry."

Mary gave no answer to this, taking silent comfort in the knowledge of her own superior understanding of Lydia's peril, and of the moral lessons to be drawn from it. She had pondered these at great length, and shared her insights with her family when she could.

The afternoon post brought further news from distant family members. "Here is a letter to both of us, from Lizzy," Mrs Bennet exclaimed. Her husband paused on his way to his library. "She writes that she has just come from a visit with Charlotte to see the new baby."

"And is she well?" Mr. Bennett asked.

"It's a he," his wife corrected. "Charlotte had a little boy, don't you remember?" She sighed heavily. "An heir to Longbourne." The idea that the Lucases had managed to, in her mind, all but steal the legacy from its rightful owners still rankled somewhat.

"No, I meant Lizzy."

"Oh! Yes, she says she is very well, and Mr Darcy is also in good health. And...well, you may read it for yourself."

Her husband accepted the letter and read it through. "Well, well. I am pleased to see that Mr Collins remains as foolish as ever. One worries that marriage may take the edge off such a man, but no, he is steadfast."

"Are Mr and Mrs Collins well?" Mary asked, disapproving of her father's criticism but not wishing to say so openly.

"Extremely well, and are enjoying an expansion of their dwelling at Lady Catherine's behest. In fact, I am given the impression she arranged the construction without informing the residents until two days before the workmen arrived, leaving Charlotte and her month old child to hide from the dust in a back bedroom." He chuckled, delighted as always by his daughter's lively descriptions of human folly and ill manners.  
>"But all is now completed, and very much to Lady Catherine's satisfaction, I gather. Lizzy writes, '<em>Mr. Collins is abjectly grateful, and has often expressed regret that his first born was not a girl, so that he could name her for his esteemed patroness<em>.' Hm. I am a little surprised he let the child's sex be a barrier to such an act of devotion."

No one laughed at his comments, and he sighed a little for the absence of his second eldest daughter, the only one who truly appreciated his sense of humour.

His wife took the letter back. "She says we will be hearing from dear Jane soon, about their moving back from town. I suppose Jane will stay in the country until after her confinement. Grandchildren, Mr Bennet! Is it not exciting?"

"Immensely so, my dear. But you hardly look old enough to be a grandmother. It will be a constant source of confusion as the child grows up." His combination of gallantry and sarcasm left his wife uncertain, as usual, how to take this remark, and he retreated to his library.

Conversation at dinner was dominated by Mrs. Bennet, who had local gossip to share. Kitty once again tried to bring up the idea of visiting Lydia, and was a little startled when her father refused her request not merely firmly, but with some sharpness. Mary attempted to talk about a book she had recently read, one which offered moral guidance to the general reader, but was met with indifference. Mr Bennet amused himself with witty remarks about his wife's comments. Each party equally felt himself to be the only one providing interesting dinner table talk, and the others to be conversational dead weight, as was usual for the four remaining Bennets.

The next day brought the expected letter from Jane, indicating that they were returning to Netherfield and would probably stay there for many months, very likely through the winter. Their marriage and wedding trip accomplished, the couple had been prompt in taking the next step of producing the promise of an heir, and nothing remained but to settle back in the country to await its arrival.

"When will they arrive?" Kitty asked, excited by the prospect of something new in the neighbourhood.

Mrs Bennet read further. "On Monday, Jane says. The servants are coming ahead to prepare the house this week. Oh, I do look forward to seeing dear Jane again! And dear Mr Bingley, too!"

"And you and the girls will have one more family to visit," Mr Bennett pointed out. "That will lighten the burden for the other households." His wife paid him no mind as she studied the letter.

The next day, after breakfast, Kitty proposed a walk to Netherfield. "They haven't arrived yet, child!" her mother told her.

"But the servants must be getting the house ready. I just want to see how they're getting on. Mary, you'll walk with me, won't you?"

"I was planning to read more of Travels in Chaldea this morning." At Kitty's impatient sigh, Mary said, "Very well. I'll put my reading off until later. Long walks are said to be beneficial." She followed Kitty to the door, pulling on her bonnet. "I believe we all have an obligation to maintain our health as best we can, and walking..." Kitty heard no more as she hurried out the front door, Mary behind her.

It was a fine June morning, and the road to Netherfield very dry. "Do you think they'll give a ball while they're here?" Kitty asked Mary as they walked.

"I have no idea."

"Perhaps Jane would agree, if I asked her."

"Jane will have a great deal to do as it is," Mary reminded her. "She expects a child in the autumn."

"But the child won't be in the way until then." She giggled. "Do you suppose Jane will be growing quite large by now?"

Mary coughed uncomfortably. "I expect we will notice a difference."

"It must be very strange," Kitty mused, "having a baby inside you like that." Mary glanced around the deserted road to ensure there were no listeners. "And then getting the child born..."

"It is all part of God's plan," Mary said uncertainly. Marital concerns often made her uneasy.

"I hope Jane will be all right."

They fell silent. It was easy for even the flightiest sister to love Jane, and they shared a moment of genuine concern for her.

The rear of Netherfield Hall came into sight. "It does look grand!" Kitty exclaimed. "I believe those are new curtains in the breakfast room window!"

They stood a while at the edge of the property, watching the small amount of activity that was visible: a stable-boy hauling a cartload of straw and a maid beating a rug in the kitchen garden.

"I wonder if I shall ever marry," Kitty said, as if to herself.

"Why would you not, if you wish to?" Mary asked. "You are perfectly presentable, and good tempered." She stopped, having run dry of plausible compliments, and not greatly inclined to contrive new ones.

"Jane met Mr Bingley here at Netherfield," Kitty said wistfully, "and Lizzy met Mr Darcy through him. But now they are both taken."

"There are many more gentlemen in the neighbourhood."

"None of them ever seem to like me very well. They always liked Lydia better." She sighed.

"Lydia," Mary pointed out, "isn't here any more."


	2. The Bingleys at Home

_"True sensibility, the sensibility which is the auxiliary of virtue, and the soul of genius, is in society so occupied with the feelings of others, as scarcely to regard its own sensations."  
>Mary Wollstonecraft<em>

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><p>With the prospect of her eldest sister returning soon to the neighbourhood, Kitty gave up, for the moment, the idea of visiting Lydia or leaving town for any other form of amusement. She filled her time with long walks, a new novel, and occasionally visiting the few young people living nearby. She even took up Mary's suggestion and brought out her needlework basket again, taking up her most recent bit of work where she had left off. She had done little sewing when Lydia had been at home, as Lydia declared it a dull occupation fit only for maiden aunts. Without the risk of her youngest sister's mockery, Kitty was able to take pleasure in one of her very few accomplishments.<p>

The new Mr and Mrs Bingley finally arrived at Netherfield, and came to pay their respects to the Bennets with courteous promptness. Mrs Bennet was in ecstasies. "Jane, my dear girl! How well you look! That bonnet suits you _very_ well. And Mr Bingley, it is so good to see you again!" She kissed them both, and Mr Bennet clasped hands with his son in law cordially enough. They all took seats in the drawing room, where Mrs Bennet took the largest share of the talk upon herself, commenting on Jane's happy condition and growing size in a manner so indiscreet, her husband finally took pity on the newly married couple and turned the conversation to other matters.

"I see you are making some improvements to Netherfield Hall," he remarked to Mr Bingley.

"Yes!" Mr. Bingley replied, glad of a chance to talk of something new. "Just a few small changes that seemed called for. And we have had the chimneys swept before moving back."

"Very practical."

"We never reside anywhere but Longbourne," Mrs Bennet said, a little peevishly, "so we must have them swept while we are living here."

"A trial, Mrs Bennet, which you have always borne with saintlike patience," her husband replied.

"I said we should take a place in London at such times, but Mr Bennet dislikes London," she confided to Mr Bingley. "I hope you and Jane have enjoyed _your_ stay in the city, along with your other travels."

"It was very pleasant, Mamma," Jane said.

"Did you go to the theatre?" Kitty asked her.

Jane smiled. "Yes, several times. And we saw a great deal of our aunt and uncle. They send their love, and say they will certainly see you before Christmas. And I met some of Mr Bingley's family that were not at the wedding. They were all very kind to me."

"Well, that is good to hear," her mother replied. "One never knows how new in-laws are going to take things. I had some very uncomfortable moments with Mr Bennet's family when we were first married. But we almost never saw those people, so it hardly mattered."

"We saw Lizzy and Mr Darcy when they were in town," Jane went on, "and we spent a little time together. Lizzy has been lately to visit Charlotte, and told me the good news."

"Good news?" Mrs Bennet repeated blankly.

"Charlotte has had her child; a boy," Jane explained.

"Oh! Of course she has. Well, yes, that is very good news. And high time! They have been married a good long while! Mr. Collins must be so pleased."

"No doubt," Mr. Bingley agreed.

"And you must be pleased as well!" Mrs. Bennet said, turning to her son in law. "I hope you are making provisions for a nursery at Netherfield?"

"Most certainly!" Mr. Bingley said affably. "Everything is being made ready, and Darcy's housekeeper has recommended an excellent nurse who will be in need of a post soon, so nothing remains but for our new resident to make his arrival."

"Yes, that is very considerate of you. Oh, this is such an exciting time in a woman's life! I remember so well, my dear, when Mr Bennet and I were expecting _your_ arrival, and now, here you are...oh, I hope all will go well for you, my dear!" She paused and took out her handkerchief as her eyes filled with sentimental tears.

Jane, touched by this uncharacteristic burst of motherly concern, pressed her mother's hand.

"You will have to have your gowns let out still more," Mrs. Bennet sniffled, nodding toward Jane's midsection, "or else have new ones made, and then taken in once you are back to your usual size."

"Yes, Mamma."

Mary, eager to participate, said, "Canon Sutcliffe writes that impending motherhood should inspire a woman to be continually grateful to her Maker for blessing her with a fruitful marriage. He has composed a volume of inspirational writings. Perhaps you would like to borrow the book?"

"Thank you, Mary," Jane said, smiling at her sister.

"Jane feels proper gratitude without any outside encouragement, I think," Mr. Bennet remarked.

Jane took his hand as well, moved by this unusual surfeit of parental affection, and the visit continued pleasantly for all.

"You must all come to dinner," Mr Bingley said as they took their leave. "What about tomorrow?" He missed the furtive glance of his wife, who was aware that the house would still be in disarray for some days. Jane's mind, following its natural bent, immediately turned away from this inconvenience and toward her own good fortune at having a husband who was so affable toward his wife's relations.

"That is so very good of you," Mrs Bennet said, with the exaggerated formality she often found necessary at such times. "It so happens that we have no dinner engagement tomorrow."

"Excellent. Then we shall see you all tomorrow." He offered his arm to Jane and led her to their carriage, where she waved to her family from the window, smiling, as they drove away.

Spending time with the amiable Mr Bingley and with Jane, whose kindness soothed every temperament, put the Bennets in a better mood; and the prospect of a visit to Netherfield after so long an absence cheered them still more. They were quite patient with one another the rest of the evening.

"Jane is growing quite stout now!" Kitty observed to Mary as they made their way to bed that night.

"That is only natural," Mary replied.

"Oh, of course. But it was surprising to see her this way." She frowned thoughtfully. "I wonder if it is uncomfortable."

"Perhaps," Mary said vaguely. "Mamma has said that it was a trying time."

Kitty made no answer. Her mother's complaints shed no light, having so little connection with the actual difficulty of her trial. She bid Mary good-night and carried her candle to the little room she had once shared with Lydia, feeling its emptiness more than usual.

The family arrived at Netherfield promptly. Kitty had taken particular pains with her appearance. She felt just a little odd about visiting her sister, now that Jane was a married woman, in charge of her own rather splendid household. Kitty had spent a little time with Lydia after her wedding to Mr Wickham, when they had stopped at Longbourne, but Lydia had seemed as she always had: carefree and jolly, in spite of her newly married status. Jane, however, seemed different. She was still the same Jane, but she seemed older now, calmer and, although more cheerful than ever, more serious as well. Kitty pondered this as she examined the ribbons of her gown, hoping the colours were in keeping with London fashion. She envied Jane her time in the city. Having only been there twice, and not for some years, she had an exalted image of London as a kind of fairyland, an image which Lydia's accounts only set more firmly in her mind.

"Jane, dear, how well your new house looks!" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, rushing past Jane and her husband in her eagerness to view the drawing room.

"I'm afraid it is very much as it was," Mr. Bingley said, smiling. "Except for the firescreens. Mrs Bingley found those in London, and had them sent on."

"It seems so strange to hear her called Mrs Bingley!" Kitty exclaimed.

Mr Bingley laughed. "I trust you can become accustomed to it, as I have every hope she will keep the name for life!"

"Oh! Of course!" Kitty said, shy once again, and moved away to examine one of the screens.

"You and Miss Mary must have missed your sister," Mr Bingley went on. "But now she is within easy reach, and you may see each other as much as you wish."

"We have never been deprived of Jane's company for so long," Mr Bennet replied. "Her absence has the most shocking effect on all our temperaments. If you had stayed away another month, I'm afraid we may have come to blows."

Mr Bingley merely laughed at this, choosing to take it as one of his father in law's rather dark jests.

"Jane, I brought the book I spoke of," Mary said, handing over a thin clothbound volume. "The Reverend Sutcliffe's tracts. He is rather sentimental, but I have heard that many find his writings very edifying."

"Thank you, Mary." Jane received the book with a smile. "I shall keep it in the little sitting room, to read in the evenings."

The conversation moved on to the subject of London, to Kitty's great satisfaction.

"Our uncle's business is doing so very well this past year," Jane observed. "They are quite well off."

"Aunt and Uncle Gardiner have always been careful and thrifty," Mary commented. "No doubt that has contributed to their prosperity."

"Did they go with you to the theatre?" Kitty asked, trying to turn the conversation in a more interesting direction. She had been so seldom to the theatre, that it held for her the same fairy-tale fascination as London itself.

"Yes, they went with us once, and had us to dinner as well."

"What plays did you see?"

"We saw _Richard III_ with Aunt and Uncle, and we went with Mr Bingley's sister and cousins to _She Stoops to Conquer_."

This did not capture Kitty's fancy, and she allowed the discussion to wander. Dinner was announced, and they were served what Mrs Bennett pronounced a very elegant meal. Mr Bingley's good cheer and Jane's tact led the conversation in the most agreeable directions, and Mrs Bennett abandoned her rhapsodies over the dinnerware, and Mr Bennett his amused silence, to join in. Everyone remained in a good humour for card games and conversation afterward, and the Bennets returned home still in a pleasant frame of mind.

In the weeks that followed, little changed in the Bennets' daily routine, apart from visits to Netherfield being added to their regular outings. Kitty found herself a little less at loose ends with visits to see Jane added to her outings, but she still felt restless. Reading never seemed to occupy her long enough, and walks seemed insipid with Mary for company rather than her lively youngest sister. She walked into Meryton several times a week, on days when she did not visit Jane or her aunt and uncle. She continued to occupy the evenings with her needlework, but her knowledge of its lack of practical use dulled her interest.

Another letter from Lydia to Mrs Bennett arrived a few weeks later, causing something of a stir. Among her usual grievances of too few balls, her inability to return to London again for a long time to come, and her husband's frequent absence from the home for dinner, she complained of strange symptoms of some unknown illness. She wrote that her stomach was unsettled often, especially early in the morning, and that she experienced odd sensations of giddiness and occasional aches and pains. She was sure that a visit to London, or to the seaside, would put her right immediately, but Wickham claimed his duties did not allow for an absence at this time.

Mrs Bennet, able to put two and two together when the subject was a familiar one, immediately wrote to her daughter Lizzy, revealing her suspicions and asking her to look into the matter, not entirely sure herself why she had asked Lizzy to intervene rather than write to Lydia directly, but feeling it to be somehow advisable. Three days later, a letter arrived from Pemberley. Mrs Bennet set her breakfast aside and broke the seal eagerly.

_Dear Mama,  
><em>_I have written to Lydia, and arranged for a doctor to see her. Mr Wickham has never engaged a physician, for either himself or Lydia, and was reluctant to allow this, but I urged him of its necessity. Dr Riggs confirmed that your suspicions were correct, and indeed that she has likely been in such a condition for some time without realizing it..._

"There, Mr Bennet! I knew it must be true!"

"What must, my dear?" her husband asked from behind his newspaper.

"We are expecting yet another grandchild! Our dear Lydia is in the motherly way. Is this not exciting?" Mary and Kitty looked up in surprise at this.

"Indeed it is," he said mildly. "I only hope Mr Wickham is equal to the challenge of fatherhood." He flushed slightly as his own inadequacies as a parent passed through his mind.

She read on. "Lizzy says Lydia is in good health, but a little uncomfortable. Yes, I recall very well. It was an unpleasant time, on all five occasions. Well, I must write and congratulate her!" Mrs Bennet quickly finished her breakfast and hurried to her writing desk to express her joy and offer her advice to her youngest daughter.

"Lydia to have a child!" Kitty mused, half to Mary, half to herself. "It is so hard to picture her a mother!"

"She is very young," Mary agreed.

"Yes." Kitty tried to imagine Lydia with sons and daughters, and failed. Lydia did not fit into any scene of such pronounced domesticity. Neither, to her mind, did Wickham. She could only see them as a gallant, red-coated suitor and a laughing girl with not a care in the world.

Lydia wrote to her mother the following week: _Lord, what a trial it is, to be sick so often! My particular friend Becky Talbot, another of the officers' wives, reminds me I shall soon have to let my gowns out, or to have new ones made, for none of them will fit me. It will be disagreeable to be so misshapen! Dear Wickham is of no help, for he seems not to like to talk of it at all, but I am sure he will be very pleased when he sees the little baby. I shall hope to have a son for his sake, altho I should vastly prefer a little girl, for she would be such fun to dress..._ Such was the extent of her maternal concerns. She went on to describe Mrs Talbot's new gown and the amusing things she had said at their last meeting, and remembered to enquire before concluding after the health of all the family.

The family's spirits were brightened the following day, when they all received invitations to a ball given by Sir William Lucas and Lady Lucas, jointly in honour of their daughter Maria's birthday and the birth of their first grandchild.

The prospect of a ball required a visit to Lucas Lodge to consult with Maria as to proper dress, and two visits to Jane for the same purpose. "I don't suppose I shall do a great deal of dancing," Jane said, laughing, "but a ball is always pleasant. I will at least have a chance to talk with friends I see but seldom."

"Old friendships must be nurtured," Mary remarked, quoting from recent reading, "for they sustain us in adversity and gladden us in happy times."

"That reminds me, Mary," Jane said, rising and retrieving a small book from a corner table, "I want to return your book, with thanks. You were right, it is very inspirational. I found myself all but weeping at some of the more moving passages. The reverend gentleman writes very well, and with a great deal of heart." She handed the volume to her sister.

"I am glad you found it helpful," Mary said, a little taken aback at having any book she recommended so well received.

"This Mr Sutcliffe must be a remarkable man. Is he retired from orders, I wonder?"

"No, I think not. In fact, I asked our own canon about his situation. He is quite a young man, who has only recently taken up a living at a parish in Derbyshire. It is not far from Pemberley; perhaps Elizabeth has met him."


	3. The Ball at Lucas Lodge

_"She had reached the age of seventeen without having seen one amiable youth who could call forth her sensibility, without having inspired one real passion, and without having excited even any admiration but what was very moderate and very transient."_  
><em>Northanger Abbey<em>

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><p>The ball at Lucas Lodge was smaller than the one held the previous year at Netherfield, due only to the smaller dimensions of Sir William's residence and not to any preference on his side. It was, however, notable in its grandeur, the large reception room being decorated for the occasion to the point where the eye could not move anywhere without falling on yet another bit of ornamentation. Only the floor itself remained clear, as a concession to the guests' convenience while dancing.<p>

Sir William and Lady Lucas stood near the door to receive guests as they arrived, and were effusive as usual in their praise of the Bennet ladies' appearance. Sir William shook Mr Bennet's hand warmly.

"It is not often we see _you_ at these assemblies, sir!" he said cheerfully.

"No, indeed," Mr Bennet agreed, "but my wife's and daughters' anticipation of your ball had reached such a fever pitch, I found myself swept along in the tide of excitement."

Sir William laughed pleasantly, quite happy to accept a satirical half-compliment if a more sincere one were not provided. In truth, Mr Bennet had resolved to accompany his family to social gatherings, despite his lack of interest, until such time as his daughters were either married or past the age where concern was necessary. As much as he made a joke of zealously guarding his two unmarried daughters, he had learned to take his responsibilities to heart. He moved immediately toward the refreshment table to fortify himself for an evening of paternal guardianship.

Mrs Bennet, as usual, joined her sister Mrs Phillips and other matrons from the neighbourhood, leaving her daughters to make their way as best they could. Mary studied the crowd solemnly, while Kitty looked around for acquaintances. She felt awkward, even in the familiar and unintimidating environment of Sir William's reception room. At previous balls, Lydia had been present, and had taken charge, greeting friends, making jokes, and joining freely in any merriment to be had, while Kitty had followed along in her wake. Now there was no one to follow.

Even the preparations for the ball had not been as festive as in earlier times. There was no Jane or Lizzy to borrow finery from, and no Lydia to stir up excitement about which young men would ask her to dance and what they would think of her dress. Even in an activity as simple as anticipating a ball, Kitty found herself at something of a loss without Lydia's leadership.

She felt a hand on her arm, and turned to find Maria Lucas smiling at her. "Kitty! Mary! I'm so glad you're here! There are so few young people!"

Kitty looked around the room. "Oh! We will hardly be able to form a set!" This was not really true, but there were, indeed, far fewer people under thirty than over, in keeping with the average age of the neighbourhood.

"People in their thirties or even forties are well able to dance," Mary pointed out.

"Oh, but who wants to dance with a lot of old people?" Kitty retorted. "Remember when the militia was stationed at Meryton?" she asked Maria with a sigh. This, at least, was a topic whose appeal never faded.

"Yes! All those fine young men in dashing red coats, and always plenty of partners! I never sat out a single dance where the officers were present."

Mary, who had sat out a good many, even in the presence of officers, suggested she go and play the pianoforte until the dancing began, and set off to the far corner of the room where the instrument was placed. Maria led Kitty to the adjoining room. "We have had to put the refreshments here in the dining room, to leave the floor open in the larger room. Come and have a glass of something."

Kitty followed willingly enough, and took a cup of punch, while Maria pointed out the one or two new people present. A short distance away, she could hear her mother talking with her friends. "My Lizzy does very well, thank you for inquiring. She is kept very busy, for Pemberley is a great estate, you know, and yet she writes to her father and me _very_ often, and long letters, too."

"She was great friends with Sir William's daughter, was she not?" one lady asked. "Has she been to visit Charlotte since her happy event?" There was some uneasy stirring from the other ladies, for Mrs. Bennet sometimes chose to resent any mention of the Collinses and their unjust claim on Longbourne, although at other times it seemed to slip her mind.

"Oh! Yes, she stayed there for several days, and wrote to tell us about it. Charlotte was well, she said, and the new baby too - but Mr Collins was in some distress, because his neighbour Lady Catherine would not visit the new baby while Lizzy was staying there, and Lizzy would not leave Charlotte until she was well past her confinement. She is angry with Lizzy, because I think she had some idea of Mr Darcy marrying someone else, or so I seem to remember it..."

Kitty half attended to Maria's chatter and half to her mother's, all the while looking about the rooms. There were a few young single men in evidence, but they were all known to her from the neighbourhood or from Meryton. Familiarity had decreased their attractiveness, as had the memory of how easily and successfully Lydia had once flirted with each of them. Kitty felt a little at a loss, even so far as replying to a young man should he ask her to dance. Previous balls and assemblies had always followed the same pattern: Lydia would approach young men boldly, sometimes introducing herself, chatting easily and making them laugh, while Kitty stood at her side, enjoying the encounter without really taking part in it except to laugh at Lydia's jokes. One of the men would eventually ask Lydia to dance, and one of his companions would follow up by asking Kitty. In this manner, Kitty enjoyed a fair amount of masculine attention and socializing without ever learning to entertain or engage in conversation in her own right. Without Lydia, she felt like a cipher.

"...and Jane, of course, is very well settled at Netherfield. We are so looking forward to the new addition to their family, and Jane has set up a very pretty nursery. Oh, and between ourselves, we have just had news that my youngest daughter, Lydia, expects a child as well, although probably not until the new year."

Mary had completed her performance of melodies very unsuitable to the atmosphere of a ballroom, and as the musicians had begun to set themselves up in the opposite corner, she stood, accepted the polite patter of applause, and seated herself in a chair near the doorway. The best part of the evening was over for her.

"...now, our Lizzy has yet to provide us with news of that kind, although it has been some time since their wedding, but I do not blame Mr Darcy. He is a very able-looking man, and I'm sure Lizzy does her duty by him as best she can. Sometimes it takes a little longer. I recall when Mr. Bennet and I were hoping for a son..."

"I'm sure they will be blessed in time," Mrs Phillips put in hastily.

Couples were gathering to form the first set. Maria was engaged for the dance by a thin, curly-haired boy of fifteen, the son of a clergyman from Meryton. Kitty stood holding her punch cup and watched the couples move down the set.

"...ten thousand a year..."

A woman she knew slightly, the wife of Sir William's physician, stopped to talk with Kitty, evidently out of pity for her lack of companions. As she departed to speak with other friends, Kitty went to the refreshment table, hoping to busy herself with food and thus look less abandoned. Once again she regretted Lydia's absence. Balls had been so effortless in the past, and such fun. Without her youngest sister, Kitty hardly knew whom to admire and whom to privately laugh at.

"... even though they were married at almost the same time as Jane, he and Lizzy took a _very_ short wedding trip, little more than a week, because Mr Darcy said he could not be long away from Pemberley at that time, but Jane and Mr Bingley travelled together for several months before returning, and I always say that a long honeymoon is sure to..."

The delicacies provided by the Lucases were highly elegant, by Sir William's design, and inexpensive by his wife's, two elements which combined to make a very light repast. Kitty had sampled everything there was to be had within a few minutes, and found herself wandering the room alone once again. She considered rejoining Mary, but hesitated to place herself where prospective dance partners would be unlikely to notice her.

She was approached at that moment by just such a person, and found herself enduring the embarrassment of being invited to dance out of pity for her unpartnered state, by the physician whose wife had spoken to her earlier. She accepted without much enthusiasm, but found the doctor, although a man well into his thirties and not particularly handsome, to be both a good dancer and an amiable companion. She found herself smiling at his comments as they moved down the dance together. Her attitude became a little more optimistic.

Mr Bingley danced with Mary, then invited Kitty to dance a reel with him. Her spirits rose still more as her brother-in-law threw himself into the dance with great zest, laughing when he made a mistake or gallantly apologizing when she did, and thanking Kitty warmly as the dance ended. As the musicians struck up the music for a more sedate dance, he offered Jane his arm.

"...but I see Jane dancing now, and she does very well for being so heavy..." Kitty heard her mother from the sitting room, where she had sat down to cards with her sister and two other ladies.

Kitty found herself grouped with Maria and several other young people, the men talking of shooting and horses, and critiquing the party at which they were guests. As couples assembled for a new dance, the group paired off, one of the young men inviting Kitty, but only as if she were the girl closest to hand, not as if she were his particular choice. She began to realize how many compliments and how much flirting had come her way as the crumbs that fell from Lydia's more abundant table.

To her astonishment, Kitty saw her father approach the dance floor with Mrs Bennet on his arm and take his place at the bottom of the set. She let her attention roam between her partner, who attempted to make pleasantries as they danced, and her father and mother, who were moving through the dance without much of the sprightliness of the younger guests, but quite correctly.

For the following dance, Mr Bennet chose Mary as his partner, and for the next, Kitty. This was an entirely new experience, and Kitty did not attempt to hide her surprise.

"Are you so amazed, my dear, at seeing your elderly father attempt to dance?" Mr Bennet asked her. "I am only trying to do my duty by my daughters, and keep them on display as continuously as possible." Kitty smiled faintly at this, but also glanced around quickly to see whether she was, in fact, observed by any promising young men. It appeared she was not. "It is certainly an easier job now," her father went on, "than when there were five young ladies to keep constantly in the public eye. In fact, I admit I found the job beyond me, and left them all to fend for themselves for many years, as you know. But with only two of you left on my hands, I can manage the job adequately. Well, here we go," he concluded, taking her hand as their turn came to move down the dance.

This dance ended, Kitty followed a group of young people to where the refreshments were laid out, and took another cup of punch and a morsel more to eat. She wandered slowly through the room, passing three young men who were arguing about horses and who ignored her completely; the doctor she had danced with, who was engaged in a serious discussion with an elderly man about some change in the law; and one or two young ladies who were talking, with oddly solemn expressions, about a wedding they had both recently attended.

As couples took their places for the last dance of the evening, young men quickly obtained partners. The curly-headed clergyman's son hurriedly asked Kitty for the dance, and they joined the set just as the music began. "Oh, we've only just made it in time!" he observed. Kitty nodded, watching the first couples begin the dance. "I always like to be at the bottom of the set," he confided, "so I can watch someone else go first."

"Yes, so do I," Kitty agreed, although she would not have made such an admission to any gentleman older and more handsome than this boy.

"I enjoy seeing others make mistakes, but hate being the one to do it myself. That hardly seems charitable, does it? We all have to take our turns being fools, or we have no right to laugh at any other's folly. That's what one of my schoolmasters says, when someone makes a mistake in the classroom."

Kitty nodded, and tried to join in the conversation. She had to think a moment before recalling the boy's name: Andrew. "Where do you go to school?"

He named a school near Hastings. "I'm just come home for the summer."

They joined in their part of the dance, which the boy did skilfully enough, then Kitty said, "I shouldn't like to go away to school, I think."

"I didn't like leaving home, at first," Andrew replied, "but I made so many friends, and it's fun being with a lot of jolly boys, rather than always with Father and Mother and my sisters." There was a pause while they joined in a circle formation and returned to place. "Besides, I couldn't go on to study law or theology, or make anything of myself, if I didn't go to a good school. But it _is_ nice to be home for now."

Kitty found herself at a loss, having little in her life to compare with these experiences. "I suppose I would be a dunce, if I were sent to school. I was never able to read good books, or study anything for long, or...or anything of that kind. I don't even play the pianoforte." At this point, Lydia would usually have made some joke, poking fun at scholarly pursuits and making everyone laugh.

"Well, I'm sure you're clever at some things," young Andrew said kindly. "Or you will be in time. You're an awfully good dancer!"

Kitty was saved the trouble of answering by being called on to move down the dance at that point. She studied her partner furtively. He looked very much the schoolboy, with untidy hair and ill-fitting clothes. In comparison to her sisters' husbands, or to the well-remembered company of officers, he seemed callow and artless, yet he was not much younger than herself.


	4. Letters

_"Women are the only correspondents to be depended on."_  
><em>Sanditon<em>

* * *

><p>The day following the ball was filled with the usual discussion of the ball itself, critique of the clothing of the other women there, of the dancing skills of the men, of the decorations and the food, and in Mrs Bennet's case of the news she had acquired from the other guests. Mr Bennet himself received some teasing praise for his gallantry and his lightness of foot, and Jane for her fortitude in dancing while enduring such an obvious burden.<p>

"I wonder if Lydia is still attending balls," Kitty pondered aloud at the dinner table. "She said she was horrid uncomfortable."

"I doubt there is much that would keep Lydia from a ball," Mr Bennet answered drily. "The onset of motherhood itself would probably cause her only to miss a dance or two." Mary looked shocked, and Kitty found the imagery too disturbing to laugh at, but Mrs Bennet chuckled pleasantly and agreed.

The rest of the week followed its usual pattern. Kitty tried to follow Mary's advice and take up her sewing again, and it did, in fact, keep her occupied during dull hours. She joined Mary on regular long walks and began taking a quiet enjoyment in the warm weather and the scenery; Lydia had never had much patience for scenery, or for country walks unless they led somewhere particular. She finished her novel, and out of boredom took up the book Jane had returned to Mary, the "inspirational" book by the Reverend Mr Sutcliffe.

She began by idly turning the pages, half reading and half daydreaming, but at one point something she read struck her, and she went back to re-read the chapter. It was not written at all like other religious tracts she had encountered, which were dull and predictable, and seemed to have no bearing on her life. The author wrote passionately, in a way Kitty vaguely felt Lydia would have mocked, and yet his passion was attractive. His writing was also different in that it wrote about temptations and moral dilemmas which ordinary people might actually encounter in their daily lives. He did not write of imaginary or long past moral struggles - "all olden times and Roman and Greek" as Lydia had once described it - but of things that Kitty herself recognized. Rev Sutcliffe's remarks on the relationship of sons and daughters to their parents struck a particular chord, and showed failings not only in her mother and father, where she expected to find them, but almost against her will, in herself and her relations to them. It was a little shocking to hear a man of the cloth speak, in such elevated yet easily understood language, about her daily domestic irritations and conflicts as though they mattered, and mattered at a high spiritual level.

Kitty read on, fascinated but a little disturbed by what she read, dulling the effect of the words a little by allowing herself to enjoy the poetic language of the tract. When she reached the chapter Mary had mentioned, relating to motherhood, she closed the book.

More than a week after the Lucas ball, a letter arrived at breakfast, addressed to Mrs Bennet. "It's my sister Gardiner's hand," she observed, studying it intently but leaving the seal unbroken, "but she seems to have addressed it in a great hurry! Perhaps she wrote urgently. I hope it is not bad news." Mr Bennet sighed, forbearing to mention, this time, that answers to her conjectures lay close at hand.

Mrs Bennet broke the seal at last, opened the letter and studied it. "Oh!" she exclaimed, putting down her mug and bending over the paper.

"What is it, Mama?" Mary asked.

"It's Lydia! She's unwell, my sister says."

"She was unwell before; she told us so herself."

"No, no, this is more serious. She is very ill indeed!"

Mr Bennet finally looked up from his own letters with a frown. "So ill that she cannot write herself?"

"Yes, it seems so. Oh, my poor girl!" She read further.

"But what is wrong with her?" Kitty asked.

"My poor Lydia! Oh, see for yourself," she said irritably, tossing the letter to Kitty, who scanned it quickly, Mary reading over her shoulder.

"Lydia has miscarried," Mary told her father.

He sat back in his chair, shocked.

"She is ill and taken to her bed," Mrs Bennet went on tearfully, "and her aunt has gone to nurse her, and asks if I would be willing to do the same, for she must get back to her family. Oh yes, Mr Bennet! You objected to our going north to see Lydia, but really you must allow it now!"

This request resulted in some confusing and ambiguous argument from her husband, who met his wife's pleas not so much with refusal as with evasion, and finally in his insistence on putting the matter off while he gave it more thought. The firm decision to keep Lydia's influence away from his unmarried daughters was at odds with Lydia's very reasonable claim upon her family in times of illness and grief. In fact, while Mr Bennet was newly committed to providing care and guidance to his family, the role was so unfamiliar to him that the presence of a genuine dilemma left him a little bewildered.

While musing over the matter, on impulse he took up his pen and wrote a short letter to his daughter Elizabeth, asking if she had heard of Lydia's troubles and what she thought of the matter. He mentioned the request from her aunt that Lydia's mother go to her sickbed, adding no more than a request for a hasty reply, and trusting his cleverest child to understand what troubled him. He sealed the letter and left it with the post.

A response came immediately, before the family's indecision could be taken amiss, and Mr Bennet found the solace he had expected.

_My dear Papa_, Elizabeth wrote. _I have already heard the sad news from Aunt Gardiner._ After kindly commiserating with all, she continued:

_I am sure you must feel some reservations at sending the family to help, but I know also that her plight must appeal to your natural sense of duty. I am going to Lydia myself to see if I can be of any aid as she recovers. While I confess I agree with your decision to separate Mary and Kitty from Lydia's company, I feel sure that her illness and the sadness of her situation will make the visit a sober one, more likely to inspire serious than frivolous thoughts in my sisters, and therefore, should you approve, I would feel no concern about their visiting at this time._

Pleased at his daughter's quick understanding and reassuring observations, and relieved that he had thought to lay his concerns before her, Mr Bennet jotted a quick note in response, before joining his family at the dinner table and announcing his intention to arrange for travel to the north without delay.

"Oh! Mr Bennet, I am so glad! I knew you would not fail your youngest child in her time of need!"

"A mission of mercy is to our credit, I believe," Mary observed, "most particularly when it is in keeping with sisterly obligations."

"Just so, Mary," Mr Bennet said, suppressing a sarcastic reply.

Mrs Bennet scoffed at the idea of taking her daughters north by means of public conveyances, and insisted on taking the family carriage and leaving her husband to walk where he would. Mr Bennet accepted this request readily, recognizing that he would be far less inclined to leave a quiet and empty house than he might be when his family were still at home.

Mrs Bennet, who was slow and inefficient in most things, was remarkably sprightly when arranging an activity she took an interest in, and the packing and preparations for the trip north was complete within the day. Mr Bennet had considered accompanying his wife and daughters, but in the end his newborn sense of paternal responsibility failed at the prospect of time spent in the company of Lydia and her worthless husband. The fact that Lizzy would be there to act as chaperone further eased his concerns. He contented himself with sending a warm and unironic message of well-wishing to his youngest and silliest daughter, and saw his family off in their carriage just after dawn.

The trip to the north was not unmarked by conflict, and quarrels broke out both in the carriage and at the inn where they stopped for the night. Mary finally retreated from conversation by reading as they travelled, and Kitty was left to talk with her mother, who was willing to accept Kitty's discourse if no better were available.

"Do you think it is a very grand house?" Kitty asked. "And their carriage - Lydia wrote me that they had got a new one in Newcastle that was very superior to any of the other officers'." She smiled to herself. "They would look to such advantage in a barouche." She thought back to that visit, and the splendid effect created by Wickham in his red coat, helping the beaming Lydia down from their carriage, as she laughed and displayed her wedding ring in triumph.

"Oh, their home is not so grand as Longbourn, to be sure," her mother replied complacently, "but I expect they are fitted up very nicely. Lydia wrote, remember? and said the house was not so large, but had a very fine parlour." Her face became pensive. "I'm not altogether sure what an officer's income is, but," she concluded airily, "I am sure it must be ample."

Kitty nodded, trying to sort out in her mind what had been said about the Wickhams' situation before they had departed for the north. Most marriages, as far as she could recall, seemed to be preceded by some fairly serious consideration of the prospective husband's means, and some discreet discussion of the bride's dowry, but in the case of Lydia and Wickham, discussion of their material situation had been vague and scattered. But then, their wedding had been so sudden.

As they approached Newcastle, the air became cooler, the landscape rougher and hillier. The roads and public houses took on a slightly unfamiliar appearance, the accents of the inn servants changed. Kitty was diverted by these differences, enough to keep her content and her thoughts occupied during much of the final hours of their journey.

They arrived at Newcastle in the mid afternoon. They passed tidy farms, then what Mrs Bennet took to be barracks, moved gradually through neighbourhoods both fine and shabby, and finally arriving at a street filled with fairly elegant brick houses. The carriage slowed, and turned into the drive beside one of the buildings, one with a red tile roof and multiple small windows. The carriage stopped, and a servant opened the door, lowered the steps and helped the three ladies out.

"Well! It is a very pretty house, after all! Not nearly so grand as Longbourn, just as I said, but it will do nicely. Lydia must be quite comfortable here." Mrs Bennet exclaimed, examining the front of the house with interest, and even walking around to the side to study it more carefully, before leading her daughters to the door and pulling the bell. The carriage with their luggage drove past toward the back of the house as the door opened.

They were greeted by a thin woman with greying hair and a rather rumpled dress, who accepted without comment their claim to be relations of Mrs Wickham, and led them into the front parlour. "The mistress is unwell," the woman began.

"Yes, that is exactly why were have come!" Mrs Bennet replied. "To see if we could help my poor Lydia."

"Yes, Ma'am. Mr Wickham is not at home right now..." the servant began again.

"Oh, is he not? Well, my sister, Mrs Gardiner, said she had come. No doubt she is here? And my daughter, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Ma'am, Mrs Gardiner is upstairs. I shall ask her to come down." The woman made a quick and slightly heavy-footed retreat, without inviting the visitors to be seated. Kitty looked around curiously at the parlour. It was a pleasant space which showed signs of Lydia's influence in the ornate, rather mismatched furnishings. Everything in it seemed newly bought, and there was a light film of dust on everything. A minute later Mrs Gardiner entered, taking Mrs Bennett's hand and embracing each of her nieces in turn.

"My dears! I'm so glad you've come. Lydia is still in her bed, although the doctor says she may get up at any time now."

"Oh, sister Gardiner! It is sad, very sad indeed! My poor dear Lydia!"

"But she will be in better comfort knowing you are here, I am sure."

"But where is Lizzy? She was here ahead of us, and sent us her carriage."

"Yes, Lizzy has just gone to the apothecary's. She did not trust the maid to deal with it. She should be back presently. Let me show you where you can rest a moment from your journey, then I can take you to see her." Mrs Gardiner looks slightly harried, but she spoke soothingly and did her best to make them comfortable. She managed to gain the attention of a maidservant, with some difficulty, and send the young woman to attend the new visitors.

The extra bedroom they were led to offered few comforts beyond a bed, a chamber pot behind a folding screen, a washstand, a small mirror, and one chair. The women removed their bonnets, tidied their hair, and soon left the room with Mrs Gardiner. They were led down a narrow hallway, where Mrs Gardiner knocked lightly and entered. "Lydia? Your mother and sisters are here, dear."

Mrs Bennet immediately rushed to her bedside. "Oh, Lydia! My poor girl!"

"Hello, Mamma." Lydia received her mother's embrace happily enough, but she seemed listless. Her face was pale, her manner wan, most unlike the vivacity Kitty remembered as Lydia's particular trait. However, she seemed well cared for. In spite of having been bedridden for days, her hair was tidy, pulled back into a neat braid. The bedroom, unlike the rest of the house, was immaculate, fresh with the fragrance of dried herbs set in jars to clear the sickroom atmosphere. The curtains were drawn back to let in the afternoon sun.

Kitty sat down on the edge of the bed. She had expected her reunion with her sister to be a merry one, in spite of the circumstances, but the change in Lydia's manner made her uneasy. "I hope you're feeling better," she offered tentatively.

"Much better than a few days ago. Lord, how unpleasant it was!" She dropped back against her pillows. "I felt so wretched, and poor Wickham had no idea what to do, and at last the man sent for the doctor, and he told me what the trouble was. I felt so glad when it was all over! Of course, my poor Wickham was sorry to lose his first child, but the doctor told him he could have many more children."

"Of course he can, my dear," Mrs Bennet assured her. "These things do happen. But where is dear Wickham now?"

"Oh, he had to look in on a friend from the militia who had some...some difficulty he needed help with, I don't know what exactly." Lydia frowned. "He ought to have been back by now."

Mrs Bennet set about giving Lydia the news from home, and from Meryton, which Lydia attended to listlessly. Presently they heard a door open and close, and a minute later Elizabeth Bennet knocked softly and entered the bedchamber. She greeted her mother and sisters warmly, and set a small bottle on the bedside table. "Lydia, I have your tonic. Do remember to take it, morning and evening, as Doctor Winslow said."

Lydia agreed absently. The visit continued, the reunion slightly subdued by the circumstances, and by Lydia's unusual dullness. Elizabeth very deftly kept the conversation going when it lagged, and presently suggested Lydia might rise from the bed and join everyone at dinner. "The doctor said you were well enough, as long as you rested often during the day; and I think it might do you good to be up and about after so long abed."

Her aunt agreed, and everyone set about fetching Lydia's dress and helping her ready herself, glad to have some useful occupation. Lydia seemed to rouse a bit at the new activity, and the other ladies dressed her and arranged her hair as if preparing her for a ball. She was helped down the stairs by Lizzie, and they reached the dining room just as the maid entered and handed Lydia a note. "Oh! It is Wickham, telling me he will not be home for dinner. He is staying on to dine and discuss business with his friend Baker." She seemed displeased, and kept reading the note over and over with a frown.

"What a shame, just when you are up for the first time in days!" Mrs Gardiner commented with a sigh that seemed to express more than she said.

The meal was not well prepared, and the conversation centred largely on Lydia's health, her difficulties in getting the servants to do things properly, and the happy times she and Mr Wickham had enjoyed with the other officers and their wives before she had fallen ill. Kitty offered a description of their recent ball, and Lizzy asked after Jane.

As they sat in the parlour after dinner, drinking tea, the rattle of a carriage could be heard from outside. "Oh, Wickham is home!" Lydia exclaimed. A moment later a heavy step was heard at the front door, and some confused rattling and banging, and at last Wickham appeared in the doorway, his hair and clothing slightly disheveled. "Wickham, there you are! Look who has come!"


	5. The Wickhams at Home

_"It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship, that makes unhappy marriages."_  
><em>Friedrich Nietzsche<em>

* * *

><p>"Dear ladies." Wickham acknowledged them all with a bow. "How good to see you all again." He smiled unsteadily, and slurred his words just a little.<p>

"They have come to help look after Lydia," Mrs Gardiner said, looking Wickham over gravely.

"Most kind of you," he said, addressing Mrs Bennet. "I see the, er, patient is up and about."

"Yes, for the doctor said I might start to get out of bed." Lydia rose to take his hand and kiss him, as he had made no attempt in that direction himself.

"Yes, good." He seemed to attempt to gather his wits, straightening his collar and smiling around at the parlour filled with ladies. "I am so grateful to you all for the care you have given to Lydia during this trying time," he said, stumbling once or twice over some of the words, but still putting forth as much charm as he could muster. Mary murmured a polite reply about the demands of natural affection.

Kitty was quite surprised at the changes in Mr Wickham. Since she had last seen her youngest sister, just before the hasty wedding and departure to the north, her memory of Wickham as a new bridegroom in a dashing red coat had remained with her. Indeed, in the long absence of officers in Meryton, the image had grown in splendour in her mind. The genuine Wickham, in his ordinary, off-duty clothing and somewhat the worse for drink, was not nearly so impressive a sight. He was still charming and affable, but even his manner was a little rougher and less pleasing than her memories of it.

"I'm sure we were all happy to help Lydia," Mrs Gardiner told him, "but now that her mother is here, I really must return home to my own children. I shall leave tomorrow morning." Mr Wickham made vague expressions of regret and renewed thanks. "it was nothing all," she assured him. "I see Lydia is much improved, and I leave her in capable hands." She glanced at Mrs Bennet. "Our Lizzie has turned out to be an excellent nurse." She rose. "I should begin packing. I shall see you all in the morning, no doubt, before I leave." They bid each other good night, and Mrs Gardiner went upstairs.

Mr Wickham took Mrs Gardiner's empty chair, and employed his wit and ease of discourse to keep the conversation flowing until the ladies were ready to retire. There had been some discussion of staying at the inn, for the house had only three bedrooms, but Lydia insisted it would be jolly to have everybody there together, and Mr Wickham agreed with as much grace as he could muster. The maid was told to prepare beds for the new guests, and she grimaced and stumped off to do as she was bid.

Mrs Bennett and Lizzie accompanied Lydia back upstairs and helped her prepare for bed. Mr Wickham called out jovial good-nights to them as they climbed the stairs, followed by a barely audible sigh and the clink of a bottle as they reached the top of the staircase.

Lydia, no longer bedridden, once again dressed in the morning and came downstairs for breakfast. The doctor came by and declared her well on her way to good health, and suggested that she was fit for short walks outdoors. Her family accordingly marched her out, covered in a shawl despite the sunny weather. At Lydia's insistence Mr Wickham joined them, doing his best to entertain them all with jokes and neighbourhood gossip, which charmed Mrs Bennet and her two younger daughters, although they seemed to leave Elizabeth unmoved.

As they returned to the house, Mr Wickham bid them goodbye, saying he had to join his fellow officers for some obligatory training measures, and would see them again at dinner. The ladies set themselves up in the drawing room, where they talked and engaged in what entertainment they could find in a house with few books, no musical instruments, no sewing or handiwork to be had, and company whose conversation was somewhat limited. Lydia seemed to have lost some of her penchant for bright chatter and jokes, and beyond poking a little fun at some of her neighbours, was fairly quiet. Elizabeth did most to keep everyone occupied and provide conversation, but she seemed to grow weary after a time, and all were glad when luncheon was served and they had something to occupy their attention.

In the afternoon, two friends of Lydia's, wives of other members of the regiment, came by to ask after the invalid, and were introduced to Lydia's family. The conversation became livelier and less sober with their arrival. They laughed over the doings of mutual friends, reminisced about recent balls and card parties, and chatted eagerly about similar parties and balls yet to come. No mention was made of Lydia's condition beyond one lady's quick well-wishing as she entered; and Elizabeth expressed some surprise at learning that both ladies had children at home, for no mention was made of family either. Kitty felt that Lydia at last seemed more as Kitty remembered her: young, carefree, and full of fun, or at least enjoying the prospect of fun.

Lydia grew listless again once the visitors had left. Mr Wickham did not, as promised, return home in time for dinner, but on this occasion he did send a message explaining that he would be late and giving his compliments to all the ladies. The evening was passed in playing cards, and on Elizabeth's recommendation Lydia was put to bed fairly early. After obtaining, with some difficulty, hot water and towels from the surly housemaid, and blowing out the sole candle in the room, Kitty lay beside Mary, trying to sort out the many thoughts running through her mind, most of which she barely knew how to define.

The following days passed in much the same manner. Mr Wickham seemed to spend little time at home, and when there, was somewhat less pleasant and entertaining than he had once seemed when squiring them around Meryton or attending dances, although still well spoken and charming to all his guests. He referred often to his concern for his wife in eloquent terms, but the prettiness of his speech was not matched by any actions of his. He accepted reports of Lydia's improving health with appropriate expressions of satisfaction, but he neither sought out that information, nor sought out the doctor's care, but left that to his relations in law. Kitty, who had not given any serious thought to what Lydia's marriage would be beyond the wearing of a wedding ring and the triumphant riding off beside a handsome man in uniform, was forced to conclude that being the wife of an officer, while offering regular balls and parties to provide diversion, was not as romantic or endlessly pleasing as she had imagined to herself.

Daily walks were extended gradually, at first covering only the green walk and the common close to the Wickham house, then coming to include more of the town itself, and finally encompassing brief visits to some of Lydia's new friends and to the shops on the high street. Lydia seemed to have made friends with some of the younger officers' wives, and her visiting family were taken to various homes for afternoon tea, card games, and sessions of gossip. Lydia's high spirits and ready humour seemed welcome at these gatherings, but Kitty also noticed that some of the Newcastle ladies did not approve of Lydia's livelier jokes, and sometimes seemed to look at each other as though sharing their private joke at Lydia's expense.

The Newcastle shops were another preferred destination of Lydia's, and she took her mother and sisters around to her favourites. She seemed to be carelessly extravagant in her purchases, and Kitty found herself wondering once again what the Wickhams' income was, especially when she overheard Elizabeth cautioning Lydia against spending too freely. Lydia responded in her usual dismissive manner that she and dear Wickham had plenty of money, ever since receiving their wedding present, and Lizzie replied, "But it will not last forever, not if you spend the capital. You must work out how much you can spend without diminishing..." but Lydia broke in, declaring that Wickham kept track of all that, and that she was not about to fret herself to death over the price of ribbons.

Walks having been extended well into the town, Lydia proposed a ride in the carriage to see the countryside. Mr Wickham being at home that morning, he found himself without an excuse. The horses were ordered, and brought after a lengthy delay by an irritated looking groom, and he and the five ladies crammed themselves into the Wickham carriage, Wickham gallantly handing Mary and Mrs Bennett up into the carriage ahead of him, and thereby securing an outside seat for himself.

The carriage was a very grand enclosed landau which Lydia said had been purchased soon after her wedding, and although it was now in need of a good cleaning, it still impressed Kitty greatly. She did notice that few such carriages were seen in the area, and they were stared at somewhat as they passed through the neighbourhood. In fact, when she reflected on it, the carriage felt a little out of place with the Wickham house, which seemed a very fine home for a newly commissioned ensign, but still modest in comparison to the luxurious carriage and horses. Kitty was quickly distracted from her thoughts as Lydia began to point out features of interest.

Kitty's attention was briefly drawn by a row of men walking, it seemed, into the very side of a hill. "Oh, yes," Lydia said indifferently, "those are the coal miners starting their work."

"It is the main industry here," Mr Wickham explained, adding grandly, "their industrious efforts supplying warmth to all of England."

"Oh, of course! Newcastle coal." Elizabeth replied, looking curiously at the miners, who gave the appearance more of men walking to their own hanging than to their day's work. Kitty was struck for a moment by the grim, soot-stained men in their shabby clothing, before being distracted by another of Lydia's exclamations.

The days passed, bringing no new activities but only new arrangements of the daily routine of walking, visiting, and shopping, of greater frequency and length as Lydia's strength returned to its full capacity. Kitty found herself falling back into the familiar relationship with Lydia, one involving gossip, laughter, ridicule, and plans for future amusements, and had begun to feel quite like the old Kitty and Lydia back at Longbourne, when the visit was brought to an end. When Lydia's health had improved to the point where it was clear no further special care needed to be taken, it was Elizabeth who suggested that the family might return to their own homes and leave the Wickhams to themselves. Mrs Bennet was at first reluctant to leave, but a quiet suggestion from Elizabeth that they all break their journey at Pemberley convinced her to end her visit.

"But perhaps it would be better," Elizabeth added quietly, "if we do not mention the invitation to Lydia. I would not want her to feel left out."

Mrs Bennet wrote to her husband that his youngest daughter was fully recovered, and added that they would be stopping to visit Pemberley before returning home, for how long she could not say. Lydia seemed pensive during their final breakfast together, and by turns spoke wistfully of her life back at Longbourne, and a little boastfully of her current circle of officers and their wives. "And I am youngest of them all," she added.

"Of course," Mrs Bennet said with a smile, "for you were married at only sixteen!"

Lydia nodded absently. "Even little Anne Cavanaugh, who came to see me, is two years older than I am. It is strange, for they are so serious sometimes, I feel like quite a child!"

"They are wives, and most of them mothers," Elizabeth commented. "That does make some ladies grow more...thoughtful."

"A sober nature is seemly in a married woman," Mary offered. "And still more so in a mother."

Lydia ignored this. "Well, many of them are very jolly, all the same. And there is always someone to visit, or most days." She glanced at her husband, who sat drinking tea in silence, looking as if he suffered from a headache.

Mister Wickham revived enough to give his guests a proper farewell at the door, thanking them earnestly for coming to his wife's aid and wishing them a safe journey. Mrs Bennet gave him and Lydia a warm and jovial goodbye. Kitty thought Lydia looked just a little forlorn as they finally departed, and noticed that Lizzie held back a moment to say, with particular emphasis, "Write to me, Lydia, whenever you like," but she was not sure what to make of that.

Mrs Bennet joined Elizabeth in the charming coach from Pemberley, with a driver in disappointingly simple livery, and Kitty and Mary followed behind in their own carriage as they journeyed unfamiliar roads toward the south west, leaving Newcastle and its surrounding landscape behind. They stopped at midday and took luncheon at an inn which Elizabeth recommended, then continued along alternately good and bad roads. Mary and Kitty conversed a little when the roads were smooth, and when they were rough, watched the scenery gradually change as they moved southward.

They spent that night at a small but pleasant inn before moving on, this time exchanging companions for a change of company, Mrs Bennet, by Elizabeth's suggestion, retaining the carriage from Pemberley and sharing it with Kitty. They stopped once more for dinner, and as they set out for the last leg of their journey, the landscape could be seen to change to the rolling green hills of Derbyshire.

By late afternoon, they reached a particularly well kept stretch of road, surrounded by hayfields and pasture, and during a brief pause at the roadside to stretch their legs, Elizabeth noted that these farms were part of the Pemberley estate.

"Oh!" Mrs Bennet exclaimed. "All of this belongs to Mr Darcy?"

"Yes, although it may be more correct to say it is all under his care," Elizabeth told her. "The farmers manage their own fields, and provide for the estate as well as for themselves. Mr Darcy does what he can to ensure their well being."

Mrs Bennet gazed, unhearing, across the expanse of rich green fields. "Such a great deal of land for one family!" she mused.

They travelled for some time from the boundaries of the estate before reaching Pemberley itself. The carriages followed a long drive to the front of the house and stopped to allow the passengers to disembark. The distant sound of barking could be heard as they arrived, and a speckled pointer trotted around the side of the house and stood at a distance, regarding them solemnly. To Kitty's surprise, and with no order from Elizabeth, four men immediately appeared to take their trunks, and two more men to accompany the carriages to the stables and assist in caring for the horses.

"Do let Brinks take the carriage back to Longbourne in the morning," Elizabeth said to her mother. "Papa might need it, and you can borrow a carriage from here to take you home whenever you wish."

"Thank you, my dear! Yes, I'll send the carriage home tomorrow morning; and perhaps Brinks will bring along a letter to Mr Bennett when he goes." Elizabeth passed the message along to the groom who had arrived to take charge of the horses, and he tugged his cap and followed the carriages along the drive, disappearing behind the great house.

Kitty was pleasantly amazed at the quick and effortless movements of the servants, who appeared, silently did their work, and vanished again. It was conspicuously different from the Wickham household, in which servants had to be cajoled into doing, most grudgingly and imperfectly, their most basic duties. As the carriages moved toward the back of the house and their trunks disappeared up a flight of stairs, Elizabeth led them through the front door and into a large, sunny anteroom.

A cheerful, grey-haired woman stood at the doorway to greet them, giving Elizabeth a smile. "Good afternoon, Ma'am. Welcome home."

"Thank you, Mrs Reynolds." Elizabeth gave the older woman an affectionate smile in return. "It is very good to be back. Mama," she turned to her mother, "this is Mrs Reynolds, the housekeeper. My mother, and my sisters Mary and Catherine. They will be staying with us for a while."

Mrs Reynolds greeted them respectfully. "We're very pleased to have you here, ladies. Have you dined, Ma'am?"

Elizabeth assured her that they had dined at an inn earlier in the day. Mrs Reynolds expressed some concern that her mistress had not been properly provided for, but Elizabeth laughingly told her they had fared very well.

The housekeeper contented herself with declaring that she would at least provide "a proper tea" to make up for the deficiencies of a meal at a public house, and turned back to the Bennets. "Please, let me show you to your rooms."

As she spoke a slight sound made Kitty turn toward an inner doorway, through which came Mr Darcy. "Welcome, Mrs Bennet, ladies." he bowed to them. "I hope you had an easy journey. Please make yourselves entirely at home." His words were formal, yet not cold. Kitty noticed a difference from the first few encounters they had had, during which she had learned to regard Mr Darcy as proud and aloof. Perhaps marriage had mellowed him somewhat. She recalled that he had been surprisingly affable at his wedding.

Mr Darcy approached Elizabeth. "Welcome, my dear," he said, in a warmer tone. He kissed her briefly and decorously on the cheek, then took and kissed her hand. "It is very good to have you home." In spite of his restraint, in spite of the presence of his wife's relations in the room, something in his voice and in the way their eyes met as they spoke gave Kitty a new and different impression of his and Elizabeth's alliance. She found herself wondering for a moment what Mr Darcy might look like in the red coat of an army officer.


	6. The Darcys at Home

_"Every neighbourhood should have a great lady."_  
><em>Sanditon<em>

* * *

><p>Mrs Bennet, seeming to recollect herself at this point, made a low curtsey. "Mr Darcy! Thank you so <em>very<em> much for allowing us to visit your noble and magnificent estate. You are very kind and obliging indeed, and I'm sure we are all terribly grateful for your condescension in permitting our humble visit." Kitty stifled a giggle, thinking that her mother sounded rather like their cousin Mr Collins.

She seemed ready to go on, but Mr Darcy quickly said, "There is no need for thanks. Pemberley is your daughter's home as well, and naturally you are welcome here."

Mrs Reynolds renewed her offer to take the ladies to their chambers to recover from their journey. She led them upstairs, where a young lady's maid immediately appeared to assist them. Mrs Bennet was shown to a handsome bedchamber with a view of the alleys between yew trees to the house's south side, while Mary and Kitty were given an adjacent room with two beds. All were decorated beautifully but in an old style, in keeping with the age of the structure, and while Mrs Bennett deplored the lack of gilt and scrollwork which defined elegance in her mind, she recognized and appreciated the magnificence, or at least the monetary value, of her surroundings. Mary commented on the historical placement of some of the furnishings. Kitty found it grand but just a little intimidating. She was surprised at how truly at home Elizabeth seemed in this place, how very much the mistress of Pemberley she seemed to have become. Kitty thought she herself would always feel overwhelmed by such a place.

The ladies refreshed themselves and tidied their hair, and Mrs Bennet joined her daughters in their chamber. "What a splendid place, to be sure!" she exclaimed, after the maid had left the room. "Just look out the window, girls! What an enormous property! The stables must be five or six times the size of those at Longbourn, and the coach house even larger! All the furnishings are quite old, but they can be replaced in due course. Elizabeth has made such an excellent match! Even better than dear Jane's, in fact, although Jane has done _very_ well for herself."

Mary cleared her throat. "Dr Sutcliffe writes that the material wealth of a prospective husband or wife, while worth taking into account, should never be the central consideration in choosing..."

"That is all very well," her mother cut in firmly, "but a girl should do the best she can to improve her situation, and her family's situation, if she is able. It is her duty. Fortunately, Jane has married a very agreeable man; but Lizzy accepted a much wealthier husband whom she knew to be unpleasant. She would certainly have been a fool to refuse him just because he is..."

She stopped at a light tap on the bedroom door. The maid looked in to ask if they would care to take tea in the drawing room. They all took a last glance in the looking glass and went downstairs readily.

The drawing room was not, as Mrs Bennet had expected, a vast, ornately decorated chamber lined with tapestries and filled with family portraits and historical relics. It was a fairly large room, but furnished for comfort rather than grandeur, with two open windows admitting a cool breeze. Small bookcases held a selection of reading material, and comfortable chairs were arranged to allow for easy conversation. The most grandiose feature of the room was the tea table, which bore a sumptuous array of cakes and fresh fruits. A parlourmaid was just placing a teapot on the table's one remaining open space. Soft music could be heard faintly from another room.

"Thank you, Cooper. I shall pour," Elizabeth told the maid, who curtseyed and withdrew.

Mr Darcy rose from his seat as the three ladies entered the room, and rather surprised Mrs Bennet by taking great pains to find each of them a comfortable seat, chatting easily all the while about the warm weather. Elizabeth poured out tea, prepared bread-and-butter, and urged slices of cake on everyone.

"I hope your daughter is fully recovered, Mrs Bennet," Mr Darcy said, moving a small table to a more convenient distance from the settee on which his mother in law was perched.

"Oh! Yes, thank you." Mrs Bennet still seemed a little nervous of her son in law. "Lydia is feeling very well, although she was poorly when we first arrived."

"So I understand. Elizabeth insisted on going to her when she heard." A brief, enigmatic look passed between him and his wife.

Mrs Bennet seemed to gain courage as the conversation continued to be cordial. "Lizzie took good care of poor Lydia. And of her friend Charlotte, when Charlotte's little boy was born." She swallowed another bite of cake. "But it was good to see where my Lydia is now living, at last. Newcastle is not so agreeable as some towns, but she and Mr Wickham have a pleasant house, and many new friends, and I'm sure they must be quite content where they are." The distant piano music came to a conclusion.

"Er, no doubt."

They were interrupted by the appearance of a young lady, who stopped in the doorway and stood looking at the guests uncertainly. Kitty recognized the girl from Elizabeth's wedding, where she had been introduced as Mr Darcy's younger sister, but had so far never had any conversation with her, and still regarded her as a stranger. She was rather pretty, tall and with a queenly figure, but with an attitude of meekness and reserve which seemed to negate the effect of her appearance. Mr Darcy held his hand out to her with a smile. "Come in and say hello, Georgiana."

The girl smiled, keeping her eyes on the floor, and curtseyed gracefully to the ladies before joining her brother. Elizabeth poured out another cup of tea and handed it to her sister in law. "The new piece is sounding better and better, dear." Georgiana smiled happily at the praise, helping herself from the inviting tea table.

"That was you on the piano just now, Miss Darcy?" Mrs Bennet asked. "Very pretty indeed."

"You play quite well," Mary added. Both Mr Darcy and Elizabeth smiled at the praise, while Georgiana blushed.

"Thank you." The young lady sat down between Mary and Kitty.

"I myself practice daily," Mary went on.

"Oh, I _try_ to practice every day," Georgiana said, her voice very low, "but I'm afraid it is sometimes a little less often than that." She kept her eyes on her hands, which were carefully cutting up fresh apricots with a fruit knife.

"Are you home from school for the summer?" Kitty asked her, recalling that Miss Darcy attended a school in London during most of the year.

"No, I have finished with school altogether, and came back to live at Pemberley after...some time ago." She glanced at her brother, who only smiled reassuringly. "Except I still have lessons with Mrs Fielding here at home."

"Who is Mrs Fielding?" Mrs Bennett inquired.

"My music teacher."

"We were fortunate in finding Mrs Fielding," Mr Darcy explained. "She is an excellent pianist, and has been able to instruct Georgiana on the harp as well. We shall be sorry to see her go."

Georgiana sighed unhappily. "Why?" Kitty asked. "Where is she to go?"

Mr Darcy answered for her. "Georgiana has outgrown the need for a teacher, and is well able to practice on her own now."

"I shall miss her," Georgiana said softly.

"I'm sure you can still write to her," Elizabeth said, pressing her hand, "and perhaps see her from time to time, too."

Kitty studied Georgiana Darcy with interest. She was simply dressed, with her hair loose like a young girl's and with no ornaments on her person other than a simple silver pin on the shoulder of her dress. She somehow appeared younger and more childlike than Lydia, although the two were very close in age; yet at the same time, more sedate and mature. Beyond her shyness with guests, she seemed very much at ease in this grand house, and yet her discourse showed no sign of snobbery or pride. She was pretty and likeable, and close to Kitty's age, yet Kitty had some difficulty imagining such a quiet, solemn young lady as a friend. Kitty was still inclined to regard Lydia as the model of an amusing companion, and Georgiana Darcy was as unlike Lydia as two young women could be.

Once everyone's appetite was satisfied, Mrs Bennet began to notice and comment upon the room's furnishings once again, and hinted broadly regarding her curiosity about the remaining rooms. "Would you like to see more of the house, Mama?" Elizabeth asked at last. Her offer was eagerly received by all three Bennets, and they were taken on a tour of Pemberley, Elizabeth leading the way and explaining, while Mr Darcy and Georgiana followed along behind. Mrs Bennet was soon rendered speechless by the house's vast size and grandeur, while Mary took the opportunity to ask questions about architectural details. Kitty was impressed by the house, but more so by how pleasantly at home Elizabeth seemed here.

The last area covered on the ground floor, the dining room, adjoined a discreet corridor which led down a set of steps, and from there into a series of pantries and linen cupboards, which offered a direct route to a heavy oak door. "The kitchen," Elizabeth explained, opening the door halfway as if to suggest that this might be a part of the tour her guests would sooner omit. Her appearance caused several servants to rise to their feet, and she looked in to say quickly, "No, don't disturb yourselves. Excuse us, Mrs Davies," she said to a woman Kitty took to be the cook.

An elderly man, noticeably feeble but dignified, emerged from one of the storage rooms, bowing; his attitude somehow marked him as first in eminence among the servants. "May I be of some service, Mrs Darcy?"

"No, thank you, Mr Spooner. I was just showing my family the house."

Kitty looked around at the enormous kitchen, equipped with two hearths, the stone floor and smoke-darkened timbers looking at odds with the newly made cabinets and clockwork jacks. In the adjoining scullery, several servants were seated at a long wooden table, busying themselves with what seemed to be bundles of herbs, the remains of their own lavish tea beside them.

Elizabeth was about to withdraw when a streak of brown and white dashed through the open back door, and a small spaniel appeared at Elizabeth's feet, wagging its tail and writhing in abject devotion. Elizabeth laughed and entered the kitchen, taking pity on the animal and stroking its head. "Folly! What are you doing in here, silly thing? Are you getting in the way?"

"Oh, she keeps to her corner, Ma'am, until she's called," the cook answered affably. "Well, unless her mistress shows herself, of course."

Folly had rolled over onto her back in a shameless display of canine affection. Elizabeth stroked her once more and ruffled her shaggy ears, then turned back to the Bennets. "I suppose this might be a good time to look outdoors, if you would like to see the gardens before dark? And then Folly can come along."

They all agreed. Elizabeth, followed closely by Folly, led them down a neat gravel path through the kitchen garden, and from there through a gate into a rose garden which bordered a grassy alley that led through a grove of oak trees. "What a sweet little flower garden!" Mrs Bennet exclaimed. "I could see the park as we arrived, or some of it, for it is quite vast, but had no idea of such a pretty little garden behind the house!" She looked around herself. "How much land belongs to Pemberley, all told?" Elizabeth named an approximate acreage, explaining what proportion was given over to tenants, what to parkland, but her mother lost interest in these details before she could complete her description. "And who was that very stately old man in your kitchen? Mr Spooner, you said?"

"Yes, Mr Spooner is the butler."

"The butler? I thought you had none, for he did not answer the door when we came."

"No, his situation is rather singular. Mr Spooner has been butler at Pemberley for many years. He is advanced in years, but resists the idea of retirement, and so he remains in an honourary capacity. Most of his duties are shared among the household staff and Mrs Reynolds, while Mr Spooner acts as overseer, instructing the servants, inspecting their work, and advising them as needed. He also assists gentleman guests when necessary, and gives final approval to the setting of the dinner table."

"But then, Pemberley has no butler, really," Kitty ventured. "Should you not either engage a new one, or else dispense with the position?"

"Very practical, Kitty; but I find Pemberley is not always a coldly practical place. Mr Spooner was here long before Mr Darcy was born, and his father was butler before that. Mr Darcy feels our responsibility to his long and loyal service outweighs any prosaic concern over having a servant who fulfills no function, yet cannot be replaced. Pemberley accepts such ambiguities, and circumnavigates them."

"Well," Mrs Bennet commented, "it must be very agreeable to have an income which allows for such sensibilities." Elizabeth could only agree.

The family scattered a bit, Mrs Bennett pausing to examine the roses, stopping Georgiana Darcy to inquire about the varieties; Mary studying the house from a new vantage point; and Kitty walking down the pathway looking up at the tall trees, devising no questions but merely enjoying the agreeable prospect, the warm air, and the late afternoon sun.

"It is so lovely and peaceful here, is it not?" Kitty turned to find herself being cautiously addressed by Miss Darcy. "It was always my favourite place to go when I wanted somewhere quiet to think."

"Yes, very lovely, especially in the warm weather, and at this time of day."

"It's pleasant to be able to go out walking when it is nearly evening," Miss Darcy remarked. "I wish the sun always set so late."

Kitty agreed, and they spoke of the outdoors and of favourite walks, quickly becoming at ease with one another and going on to confide about beloved childhood hiding places. Kitty recognized Miss Darcy's bashfulness, and her pity for the young lady's awkwardness, along with the very slight superiority her comparative boldness gave her, urged her to bring forth her best efforts in making her companion more at ease and drawing her out. The interest Miss Darcy seemed to take in Kitty's thoughts, her willingness to share information on their respective lives, pleased and flattered Kitty. Having been largely overlooked at home, she was easily impressed by any show of attention; and while she made more of Miss Darcy's polite conversation than was intended, the gratitude Kitty felt, and the eagerness with which she furthered their mutual acquaintance, gradually encouraged in Miss Darcy an affinity very nearly as great as Kitty imagined it to be.

Within a surprisingly short space of time, their acquaintance had developed to the point where Kitty felt they were not many days away from calling each other by their Christian names, from which they had only to resolve to name their first born daughters after one another and exchange locks of hair to bring the friendship into full bloom. Kitty had very recently thought Miss Darcy an unlikely friend, in being so dissimilar to her sister Lydia, her model in all things for many years. But it was Kitty's nature to require a leader and example, and a girl who would readily follow a Lydia Bennet must be completely swept away by a Georgiana Darcy - especially when, as Mary had so cogently expressed it, Lydia was no longer here.

"It is wonderful having Elizabeth here," Georgiana confided. "She is truly an older sister to me. You must miss having her at home, though."

Kitty did not deny this, feeling uncomfortably that her comparative indifference to Lizzy would not reflect well on her in the eyes of her new friend. Georgiana continued to praise Elizabeth, to describe how happy the marriage had made her brother and how much her presence had enriched life at Pemberley. Before she had done, Kitty had begun to feel that she had completely undervalued her older sister, and wondered that she had been able to overlook her good qualities in spite of having lived in the same house with her for her entire life.

Their discussion was interrupted when Mary called to Georgiana with a question about the house, and Georgiana went to her. They all carried on exploring the gardens, separately and without comment, until Kitty suddenly realized that she had drawn close to where Elizabeth and her husband had strolled, and found herself within hearing of their conversation, although well out of their sight on the opposite side of some dense shrubbery. She turned away, but on hearing Lydia's name spoken, she hesitated, her curiosity piqued. Glancing around and seeing no-one observing her eavesdropping, she stooped and took up a leaf, which she studied with an attitude of absorption while listening in silence.

"Is all truly well with your sister?" Mr Darcy's voice asked quietly. "I am afraid Wickham must be..." He trailed off.

Elizabeth sighed. "Lydia is naturally cheerful, and believes every setback to be a temporary one. She begins to feel that all is not...quite as she had hoped, but takes it as no more than a whimsical mood on his part, soon to pass. She has a great deal of affection for him, or at least of her idea of him."

"He is not unkind, I hope?"

"No, not that. Merely rather indifferent, and, I believe, finding it more and more difficult to hide the fact."

"He was always adept at superficial charm," Mr Darcy said, his voice grim.

"Yes, but it is surely a harder thing to maintain appearances when living together as husband and wife."

"No doubt." There was a brief pause. "I know it must pain you to see her in this situation."

"It does. Lydia may have been foolish and imprudent, and I wanted her to learn better, but I would not have had the lesson come at so high a price."

"Nor I. Are they still solvent, at least?"

"It seems so, although I could not say for how long. Their house and carriage seem more expensive than those of his fellow officers. Lydia has never been thrifty, and now believes herself free to spend as she likes; and I think Mr Wickham passes many evenings at cards with his comrades."

"Gambling was always a fault of his. It was how he lost his first fortune, as you know; and I was afraid it would be his undoing. _Their_ undoing, I should now say," he added.

Elizabeth's voice was heard musing quietly, "If they should be driven to..."

Mr Darcy interrupted. "Your sister will not be destitute while I live. He deserves no help from me, and I would sooner never hear of him again; but I would not allow her to become a victim of his excesses. I shall certainly urge Mr Wickham to make more careful use of what he has already been given; but if worse comes to worst, I will not let his vagaries destroy her."

"I am grateful," Elizabeth said quietly. "I know how unpleasant it must be to have such a man for a near relation; and to also have to be troubled over his well-being..."

"Think no more of it," Mr Darcy replied. "You have suffered patiently enough at the hands of some of _my_ unfortunate family members," he chuckled, "to have more than paid me back in forbearance."

Elizabeth laughed as well. "I shall worry less for her, then, at least as far as their living. I can only hope that her life will not become a burden to her in other ways."

Mr Darcy only sighed in response, and they continued their walk, leaving Kitty with much to wonder about.

The first evening of their visit, the three Bennets were entertained by Georgiana upon the pianoforte while enjoying a glass of wine and some conversation. Not long after the sun had set, however, Mr Darcy took note of Kitty's muffled yawn to quickly exclaim that his guests must be tired from their day's journey, apologize for keeping them up so late, and urge them to retire as soon as they found comfortable. They all agreed that an early bed would be most welcome. Kitty had no sooner closed the door to her bedchamber than she heard hushed voices and muffled laughter, and the rapid footsteps of two people hurrying up the stairs. The sounds vanished as a door closed somewhere along the corridor.

Even with her limited knowledge of married life, Kitty understood that two people recently wed looked forward to time alone, especially after a long separation; and her mind immediately pictured the sly jokes Lydia would have made under these circumstances. However, Kitty almost immediately turned her thoughts away from these musings, feeling in a vague way that they were disrespectful. Her sister Elizabeth had been elevated in her own mind, not only by her position as mistress of Pemberley, but by the praise she had received from Georgiana, and Kitty felt reluctant to regard Lizzy and her bridegroom in the light of unseemly observations. Besides, such frivolous jokes were not, she felt, something that Georgiana Darcy would approve of.

It struck her that almost all the knowledge she had of wedded life, of leaving home and living with a man, of the marriage bed and the conception of children, consisted of silly jokes from Lydia and careless references from her mother. For the first time, she considered how inadequate such an education was, for what must be a momentous change in one's life. She thought of Lydia, blithely entering into the married state at barely sixteen, and wondered if she had found it as she expected. She thought of her sister Jane, who would be a mother within the year, and wondered if she found the prospect daunting. She tried to picture her own future courtship and marriage, but apart from taking on bits and pieces of her sisters' own histories and applying them to herself, she could conjure up nothing. Musing thus, she fell into sleep.


	7. A Visitor

_"A clergyman is nothing."_  
><em>Mansfield Park<em>

* * *

><p>The Bennets found Pemberley to be a much more active place than they had imagined. By the time they came downstairs for breakfast each morning, Mr Darcy was usually out, already meeting with his steward or dealing with business among his tenants, while Elizabeth had finished her breakfast and begun writing her letters. She always sociably joined her mother and sisters at the breakfast table for a second cup of tea before returning to her correspondence. She had then to consult with her housekeeper, after which, to the Bennets' surprise, she set out to make visits. They were not social calls of the kind Mary and Kitty were accustomed to, but visits to households connected with the estate, those of tenant farmers, retired servants, and a few still more humble homes of pensioners, bereaved families of servants, war widows, and others who, for one reason or another, were unable to properly sustain themselves.<p>

Mary was very much impressed at these acts of charity; but Kitty, who was unaccustomed to think about the needs of the less fortunate, took it as part of the customary responsibilities of great houses, unrelated to her own life. Still, she happily joined in whenever Elizabeth and Georgiana spent time sewing items for the poorer residents of the area, gratified to have one skill that was of genuine use.

Elizabeth had more leisure in the afternoons, when she often went out riding after a light luncheon. She had never been a great horsewoman when at Longbourn, but had taken up riding because of Miss Darcy's love of the activity, and was now quite at ease on horseback, and enjoyed it as a frequent exercise, the faithful Folly most often trotting along beside her. She invited her sisters to join her whenever they pleased, assuring them there were mild-tempered horses enough for all, and lent them riding clothes for the purpose. This gave them the chance to conveniently view the entire property belonging to Pemberley, extending over countless farms, taking in woods and parkland, and also comprising a small church and adjoining residence on the outskirts of the nearest village. Mary and Kitty, who were seldom on horseback, were given, as promised, quiet, sedate riding ponies, and the outings became a favourite pastime among the young ladies. Georgiana usually joined them, riding a tall, spirited black mare with the ominous name of Thunder, which seemed out of keeping with her timidity, but which she rode confidently and kept under expert control. She and Kitty continued to further their acquaintance while Mary spoke mostly to Elizabeth.

Kitty found herself a little humbled by Georgiana's accomplishments and education, which had been better than that of most young ladies, and certainly more comprehensive than Kitty's own. However, Georgiana did nothing to indicate feelings of disdain, but instead gracefully directed the conversation to allow Kitty to participate, and to make any area of ignorance on Kitty's part seem like a happy opportunity for further discussion rather than a deficiency. Kitty was clever enough to eventually recognize the courtesy and skill with which this was done, and far from making her feel patronized, it increased the esteem in which she held her new friend.

Evenings were spent in any number of ways, and Kitty found herself liking the informal gaiety of these family gatherings. Georgiana might play the pianoforte while the others gathered nearby and sang together any familiar song. Once Elizabeth played on the pianoforte while Georgiana accompanied her on the harp. On other days they spent the time in conversation, and Kitty was delighted at how enjoyable the occupation could be when led by Mr and Mrs Darcy, who had quick minds, many areas of interest, and a sense of humour. Even when the evening was occupied by familiar card games, lively talk accompanied the games and made them amusing. The evenings which were spent quietly reading were not dull, for under Georgiana's influence, Kitty's interest in literature had been reawakened, and she found much to divert her in the Pemberley library.

On a Monday, just as the family were finishing their midday repast, a one-horse cart appeared in the front drive, greeted by the usual barking of dogs and unobtrusive stirring of servants. A minute later, the housemaid came in to announce a visitor, whose name Kitty did not make out. Mr Darcy smiled and rose from the table, urging the others to join him in the drawing room. Elizabeth also rose, seeming to recognize the name of her visitor. The ladies entered the drawing room as Mr Darcy was clasping the hand of a young man in the suit of a cleric, exclaiming, "Sutcliffe! It is good to see you again!"

Elizabeth came forward to take his hand as well, apparently already acquainted with him, and from her expression counting him as a friend. He bowed gallantly over her hand. "Mrs Darcy. It is always a pleasure."

"Welcome, Mr Sutcliffe."

Mr Darcy turned to the others, saying with a smile, "Ladies, let me introduce my old friend, Henry Sutcliffe. This is Mrs Bennet, and Elizabeth's sisters, Mary and Catherine Bennet."

He bowed. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, ladies."

Kitty examined the new guest as she curtsied in response. He was tall and strongly built, with untidy chestnut curls and striking green eyes. He smiled a great deal, not as though doing so deliberately in order to ingratiate himself, but only as if a naturally happy disposition compelled him. While he could not be called truly handsome, his face was pleasant and expressive. His voice was deep but not gruff, and his speech expressive. He seemed in every way very much at odds with her own image of a clergyman.

They seated themselves in the drawing room, where Mr Sutcliffe was persuaded to accept a cup of tea and the Darcys took an additional cup to keep him company. "How do you know each other?" Mrs Bennet inquired.

"From university," Mr Darcy replied. "We attended Cambridge together." This led to an account of their meeting, and from there to stories of their exploits at school, which soon had all the ladies laughing. "Sutcliffe was by some accounts the brightest student in our year," Mr Darcy told the others.

"Hardly that, Darcy. I was a complete dunce much of the time, and famous for it."

"Your brilliance was intermittent," Mr Darcy said, suppressing a laugh. "It would not be called forth, but came when it would, oblivious to worldly command."

Mr Sutcliffe found this very diverting. "Oblivious to the _professors'_ command, certainly!" he agreed.

"But you had an inquiring mind which many respected," Mr Darcy said more seriously.

"Their respect was also intermittent," Mr Sutcliffe said, laughing. "One of our instructors once said to me, 'Sutcliffe, if curiosity and intelligence were one and the same, you would be our most admirable pupil. But,' he told me most mournfully, 'they are not!'" They all joined him in laughing at his own imperfections. "Now, Darcy here may not have had a strange, flighty, sporadic brilliance or a noteworthy but irrelevant curiosity," he laughed, and the others also laughed heartily, for his way of speaking was irresistibly amusing, "but he was intelligent enough, and studious enough, for his performance at school to require no _but_."

"He may have been clever," Elizabeth, with a smile at her husband, "but was he well behaved?" Georgiana smiled in amusement, but at the same time ducked her head nervously, still just a little shocked at this familiar impudence toward her revered elder brother.

"Ah! That is a question, to be sure," Mrs Bennet said eagerly, less fearful of offending Mr Darcy when her daughter led the way. "For I have heard shocking stories of students' wild revels." She awaited the answer with an appearance more of happy anticipation than of dread.

"I have nothing to tax him with," Mr Sutcliffe replied with a serious expression. "If the magistrate was willing to accept his explanations, who am I to doubt them?"

All three Bennets gaped in surprise, only realizing his intention when Elizabeth laughed heartily.

Darcy smiled and shook his head. "You will teach my wife's relations to think ill of me, just when it is my intention to build good will with them."

"I am sure your reputation is sturdy enough to withstand some mockery," his friend rejoined, smiling in return. "A respectable character may be played with a little. It is those with a spotted history whose good name needs to be treated with great delicacy."

"Indeed!" Mary exclaimed. "That is an unusual point of view."

"It is one I believe in strongly," he replied. "The person who struggles, however feebly, to improve and leave his wrong-doings behind him must be given every possible support and, short of encouraging further wrong, every leniency. It is, I believe, the very essence of Christian charity and of Christian forgiveness."

He spoke earnestly; and the contrast with his joviality, as much as the words themselves, made a great impact on Kitty. She found herself agreeing wholeheartedly with his sentiment before she had fully understood it. In fact, she felt she had rarely heard anything, especially anything on the subject of faith and morality, than was more apposite and sensible than Mr Sutcliffe's remarks; and she looked at Mary in silent disapproval when her sister chose to debate the subject a little longer, until the conversation led back to his and Mr Darcy's time at Cambridge.

"And have you been friends ever since?" Mrs Bennet asked.

"Sadly, no, for we were mostly in separate circles at school; and then life took us in different directions for a time. But when I was given the living at Fardale, Darcy found he could no longer avoid my occasional society." Mr Darcy smiled at this. "For he is too hospitable to turn me away when I would drive to Pemberley from time to time, to eat his food and borrow his books. Which makes me recall," he added, producing a volume from his pocket and handing it to Mr Darcy. "Many thanks."

Mr Darcy received the book. "You are welcome to borrow as many as you like, I am sure you know. As for eating my food, you have more often refused than accepted an invitation to dine at Pemberley. I hope you will stay for dinner today, at least."

"Thank you, I would be happy to."

The lighthearted conversation continued, reduced to an all female discourse when Mr Darcy and Mr Sutcliffe left to examine the contents of the library, then resuming over the dinner table, which offered the same pleasing mixture of comfort, elegant simplicity, and tasteful abundance as the tea of the day before. Mr Sutcliffe was talking of his own parish, its troubles and its small human comedies; and when at one point he made a reference to a book he used in writing one of his sermons, Kitty came to a realization so suddenly that she gasped. Mr Sutcliffe noticed her surprise and turned to her questioningly. She blushed and asked uncertainly, "I beg your pardon, but I just now recognized...are you perhaps the same Mr Sutcliffe who wrote..." Here she broke off, unsure of the title of Mary's book. "I believe it is called Thirty Homilies on Family LIfe?"

"You are giving me too much credit," he replied, smiling. "One third too much, to be exact."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The title is Twenty Homilies on Family Life. I believe it has had exactly twenty readers since its publication, which makes for a pleasant symmetry."

Even though she recognized this as a joke, Kitty felt moved to protest. "Oh, surely not! It is...I thought it was so...so very..." Kitty stopped, unused to describing emotions that did not relate to bonnets, uniformed officers, or weather conditions. "I liked it very much," she concluded, for the moment incapable of better.

"Thank you," Mr Sutcliffe replied, kindly overlooking her incoherence. "It is good to hear that you took note of my one little book among your other reading."

Partly in consequence of being in the presence of the much admired Georgiana, Kitty felt an impulse to be honest, to refuse unearned praise, and also to do right by her sister Mary. "But I remember it easily, because I read so little. In fact, I was given the book by Mary, who reads a great deal, and I am sure understands your book much better than I do."

Mary looked at her sister in understandable surprise, but only added, "It was a most eloquently written treatise, and many of the analogies drawn from Scripture were entirely new to me."

"Thank you as well, Miss Mary Bennet," Mr Sutcliffe replied. "So, my little book is included in the reading of the avid and experienced reader, and among the few carefully chosen volumes of the highly selective reader as well. As you see, Darcy," he said with a smile, "I can manage to draw a compliment from almost any situation. One who had never yet read my book at all, I could suppose to have set it aside for a special occasion."

"And if another claimed to have read it and disliked it immensely?" Elizabeth asked him playfully.

"Then, of course, I should assume he thought it disappointing in that it was unworthy of my prodigious talent," he answered quickly.

Mr Darcy laughed with the others. "Clearly, there is no possible way to insult you."

"It would be, at least, more effort than it is worth."

"What would be the use of insulting someone who refuses to recognize it?" Elizabeth agreed.

"I have seen many ladies happy to insult someone who did not realize it," Kitty mused, half to herself. "Then they could make fun of her lack of understanding as well."

To her embarrassment, Mr Sutcliffe heard and turned toward her. "Very true, I am sure! I see Miss Catherine Bennet is a student of the darker sides of human nature."

She blushed at having her mundane remarks so dignified. "Oh, no; but I sometimes watch ladies at balls or even in the street, and they do sometimes..."

"Yes, for some, giving an insult is its own reward."

"Ladies can be very unkind," Mary said, her simple statement expressing an unspoken history as the brunt of such unkindness.

"They can," Mr Sutcliffe agreed, giving her a look of sympathy. "Perhaps because they feel their own lack of power."

"How so?" Mr Darcy asked.

"I believe that one who is confident in his own position is less likely to be tempted to cruelty. Not always, but often."

"It is said that a child who bullies other children is most likely to be a coward at heart," Mary offered.

"So it is. Perhaps unkind insults come from fear as well. To demean others gives one a kind of predominance, if only the most worthless kind. One must pity the lady who depends on such means to elevate herself."

"You seem determined to vindicate everyone, or at least to mitigate their guilt, by one means or another," Elizabeth observed. "You remind me of my elder sister, Jane, who can see no evil in anyone, and will find good intentions where no one else can."

Kitty was surprised by the comparison, and spent a few silent minutes considering it. Mary observed that perhaps this willingness to overlook or ignore faults was in keeping with the proper role of a clergyman.

Mr Sutcliffe gave this conventional remark more consideration than it called for. "No, I think not," he replied thoughtfully. "I cannot claim to be like Mrs Darcy's sister, who no doubt sees everyone else in the light of her own clear conscience." This comment made Elizabeth smile. "Nor do I believe it incumbent on a clergyman to be unaware of human vice; quite the contrary. I see the evil in others. I suppose I cannot help but also see the worthy person hidden inside even the most degraded of sinners, and the possibility that he may somehow be recovered."

Mr Darcy seemed dissatisfied with this. "Perhaps you are too lenient. Not all evil is done out of fear, grief, or confusion; some is done with deliberate malice."

"I have no doubt of that," Mr Sutcliffe replied, seeming to take this disagreement with the greatest civility. "But even malice is not, I think, inborn. There is no malice in a day-old child. Every evil person is a good person gone awry, who can be returned to his proper state."

"But how many will, in fact, be brought back as you describe?"

"Very few, I grant you. But each one lost is a failure we all share."

Mr Darcy shook his head. "You seem almost to relieve rational adults of the responsibility for their own actions."

"I hope not. All men are responsible for their actions, and for the consequences of those actions. But men are more than the sum of their good and bad works. Perhaps it is foolish of me, but I must keep faith in the essential goodness of human beings, no matter how seldom they justify that faith. My good opinion of someone may be lost, but I can never accept that it must be lost forever."

Mr Darcy seemed much struck by this last statement. Elizabeth filled the brief silence by asking, "Has your philosophy ever been sorely tested? Have you never met someone you felt to be beyond hope of redemption?"

This question led gradually to a less serious discussion, in which everyone joined with suggestions of people, from dishonest shopkeepers to men who beat their dogs, who might fall into such a category. Mr Sutcliffe seemed perfectly content to move from a most sober discussion to a more lighthearted one, and the talk ended in laughter.

Having secured the information that Mr Sutcliffe was largely at liberty until Sunday morning services, the Darcys would not rest until they had persuaded him to stay on until Saturday afternoon. Having overcome all arguments regarding lack of luggage and the desire not to impose on a family gathering, he agreed, and was installed in a guest chamber and servants sent off to retrieve what clothing he should expect to need for the week.

In the evening Georgiana was asked to play the pianoforte, and presently Mr Darcy proposed that she and Mr Sutcliffe sing together, noting for the Bennets' information that his friend had been in the church choir at university and had a fine voice. Mr Sutcliffe accepted readily, and he and Georgiana performed not one, but three songs, their voices combining delightfully. When Georgiana grew tired, the two singers joined the others in the drawing room, where they conversed about music, Georgiana being for once bold enough to reply in full sentences to a visitor's comments, and even go so far as to hazard an opinion or two that was not in full agreement with his own.


	8. Adventures in Derbyshire

_"It will, I believe, be everywhere found, that as the clergy are, or are not what they ought to be, so are the rest of the nation."  
><em>_Mansfield Park_

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><p>As the Bennets became accustomed to the daily routine of Pemberley, Mary began to take more interest in Elizabeth's regular visits to the tenants and the nearby farmhouses and cottages. When Elizabeth explained the need to maintain support of those dependent on Pemberley, as the need arose due to sickness, death of a family member, or other personal difficulty, and also to any local indigent families who were not connected to Pemberley, Mary proposed joining in some of the visits.<p>

"It is admirable that you continue to offer aid to the less fortunate within your purview," she said solemnly.

"It has been the practice at Pemberley for some time," Mr Darcy said, "and I mean to maintain it to the best of my ability. I take it as a responsibility contained in the position of freeholder, if not by law, then at least by right; and Mrs Darcy has encouraged my efforts wholeheartedly."

This led to a discussion which Kitty did not follow very well, concerning tenancy laws, farming expenses, enclosures, feudalism, and various financial matters. She was able to gather from it the salient fact that some residents of the area were, through little or no fault of their own, perpetually poor. Mary's tolerably well informed remarks on the subject were ignored by Kitty, but Georgiana's quiet expression of sympathy for the destitute convinced her of the problem's importance. Accordingly, she joined her sisters on a visit to several nearby farms, thinking only for a moment at how Lydia would laugh at her morning's occupation.

The four young ladies spent a half hour with a childless widow whose husband had left her only debts upon his death, and whom age and infirmity had forced to stop her former work as a seamstress. Elizabeth had brought food from Pemberley's kitchen, some medicine recommended by Mr Darcy's physician, and a few other household necessities. She quickly and unobtrusively tidied the little cottage, in particular doing certain tasks that might be difficult for an elderly woman, and stayed to visit for a time, amazing Kitty by her easy conversation with a woman who had no education and little inclination to discuss anything but the weather and a few incidents from her own girlhood.

The ladies took their leave very cordially, and moved on to the cottage of a family into which an infant had been born two days earlier. Here, Elizabeth presented the new parents with a stack of linens and gowns, making a point of directing credit to her sisters, for these were the very items Kitty had assisted in sewing at Pemberley during quiet hours. It gave her an odd sensation to be directly involved in this mission, and she accepted the young mother's thanks awkwardly, staring at the wrinkled, red faced baby that was the central focus of the room.

Their final stop was a tiny cottage not far from the nearest village, inhabited by a shabby but ladylike young woman, introduced to the Bennet girls as Margaret Chamberlain, and a child of perhaps three years. As before, Elizabeth politely greeted the woman, left some food and items of clothing for the child with comments that made her action a social pleasantry rather than a donation, stayed to chat for a short while, and took her leave, the others following her example.

"Who was that woman with the little girl?" Kitty asked as they left. "Another war widow?"

Elizabeth hesitated, glancing at Georgiana, who was out of earshot. "Not a widow, no. She is an unmarried lady who...fell on hard times. When her child was born, her family disowned her. Now she earns a living by selling her paintings. Fortunately she has artistic talent and training that allows her to support herself and her daughter in this way, and without being much in society."

"Were those her paintings on the wall inside?" Mary asked, looking back at the cottage. "She must be very accomplished in the fine arts."

"Yes. She has sold many of her landscapes and still life studies, and has even painted portraits for such families as will tolerate her circumstances."

Kitty was thinking about the young woman's situation. "But what about the little girl's father? Why does he not provide for them?"

"He abandoned her before the child was born, and refuses to acknowledge them."

Kitty had some difficulty taking in the fact that such a thing could be done, and protested that the law must surely forbid it, until Elizabeth convinced her that such an act of abandonment, while cruel and morally questionable, was not only permitted but far from uncommon.

The residents of Pemberley retired rather earlier than those at Longbourne, or at the Wickham residence, and Kitty awoke and rose earlier each day, until she often found herself downstairs as early as eight in the morning, and able to take breakfast with Georgiana and Elizabeth. Mr Darcy sometimes joined them, and at other times was already out, dealing with some business or other relating to the estate. Kitty never quite took in what he was about at such times, but understood it to be necessary. After two weeks as guests, when her sister sat down in the drawing room to write letters, Kitty joined her, thinking she ought to write to her sister Lydia, belatedly thanking her for her hospitality, and also relating any news that might interest her.

She thought for a time, finding it difficult to know what to tell Lydia that would neither bore nor distress her. Somehow, being where she was, in such company, and seeing Miss Darcy's example of gentle courtesy, seemed to cause her to become unusually aware of her actions, and she was no longer able to speak or write carelessly, without knowing what effect her words might have. It was an interesting sensation, she found, but inconvenient. At length she took out a new sheet of paper and composed a short letter to her father, then a second and longer one to Maria Lucas.

Finally, she returned to the page bearing only the salutation, and wrote as cordial a thanks as she could manage. After further thought, she went on to say they had stopped with Lizzy at Pemberley, that it was very large and filled with old furniture and paintings, and seemed to require a great deal of attention to the estate. She added that Mr Darcy's sister was now in residence, who was a brilliant musician but was extremely shy and sometimes could hardly be made to speak; that a local clergyman of Mr Darcy's acquaintance was now also a guest at the house; and that Lizzy rose early and went out some mornings to do charitable work for the poor. She offered no opinion of these details, but trusted in Lydia's familiar sense of humour to find absurdity in all of them. Kitty could remember a time not so long past when she would have taken all these things to be at least a little ridiculous, and mused a while on the distance that had grown up, in quite a short time, between herself and her formerly favourite sister, before completing and signing the letter.

Mr Sutcliffe's visit was so pleasant for all concerned that, as the end of the week approached, he urged everyone to accompany him to Fardale, to attend his church on Sunday and to stay at his home. "Let me return the hospitality you've offered me," he said to the Darcys, "at least as far as my bachelor establishment can provide."

It was agreed, and his veiled warnings about a bachelor's home were taken seriously to the extent that both Elizabeth's and Georgiana's lady's maids were taken along, as was one of the kitchen maids. Mr and Mrs Darcy arranged for their responsibilities to be fulfilled or postponed in their absence. On Saturday morning they set out in two carriages from Pemberley and Mr Sutcliffe's own small vehicle, forming a little procession along the country roads.

The church at Fardale, which they passed on the way to the rectory, was a stone building distinguished by neither size, age, stateliness, nor exceptional beauty, but was handsome enough and seemed in reasonably good repair. The churchyard sloped gently upward to a slight rise, on which was set the parsonage, a structure of stone and wood which was simple but quite large. The church was placed near the edge of town, but the sudden slope in the land on the house's near side prevented any other homes from being placed nearby. This gave the parsonage both a very extensive property and a great deal of privacy in spite of its convenient nearness to the town itself.

Mr Sutcliffe's establishment included only an essential few servants such as a single gentleman might need. Accordingly, much of the house was normally closed up and left unused, which the visitors learned when a housemaid let the fact drop. This had required a flurry of preparation before the arrival of houseguests. The accommodations were, in truth, a little Spartan after the comforts of Pemberley, but adequate in every respect; and Mr Sutcliffe's efforts to make them comfortable, and his pleasure at having them there, more than compensated for the lack of amenities.

There was time to settle everyone in their rooms and to show the library to such guests as were interested in it, before dinner was announced. Mr Sutcliffe's table was also simpler and less elegant than that at Pemberley, but the food was ample and well cooked, and the conversation always diverting. Kitty found herself out of her depth frequently, when most of the others were able to at least follow the discussion with a degree of understanding, and while she blushed for her ignorance, she also found the information that came out so intriguing that she often overcame her embarrassment to ask questions. When she hesitated to interrupt too often, Miss Darcy would often whisper explanations in her ear.

Mary asked informed questions about the church itself, and when the architect was named, was able to identify other parish churches which were built by the same man, and speak to the virtues of that particular style. Kitty found herself wondering when Mary had had the opportunity to read on so many and diverse topics. It seemed so odd to her that her sister had information that had never shown itself until it was called for at this particular conversation. Or perhaps, she thought, it had been spoken of, and Kitty had not been paying attention.

"You shall see the inside of the church tomorrow," Mr Sutcliffe told her, "and I hope it meets with your approval, and the service as well."

"The Sunday services here are famously shocking in their extravagance," Elizabeth said, laughing.

Mr Sutcliffe chuckled. "I hope not quite shocking, but perhaps not what you are all accustomed to," he said, addressing the Bennets.

Mrs Bennets eyes widened. "How? I have never been to church and seen anything very different from all the other times."

Mr Sutcliffe overlooked this implied suggestion of tedium. "No great differences will be seen. I allow more ritual in my parish services than usual, and the music is perhaps a little more significant to the proceedings."

"There is something of a movement in this direction in some parishes," Mr Darcy said, "originating, I believe, at Oxford."

"I hope you will not think less of the practices, for not having come from Cambridge," Mr Sutcliffe said with a smile.

"No, but I am by no means sure of their value. We have discussed this in the past."

"Yes, or disputed over it, rather."

"It might be called that," Mr Darcy said cautiously. "We disagree on many subjects, but I hope that does not imply enmity between us."

"God forbid! No, we must all have friends with whom we agree on every matter that arises, as you do with your old friend Charles Bingley, and other friends with whom we argue constantly. It gives variety to our social situations, and expands our vocabulary." Kitty smothered a laugh, amused at his manner of expressing himself; but Mary frowned a little over this light way of speaking about serious subjects.

"Well, but Mr Bingley is so amiable," Mrs Bennet put in, "he agrees with everybody about everything."

"Perhaps he is not _quite_ so changeable in his opinions as that," Mr Darcy said mildly, "but he is, indeed, very amiable. His temper is well suited to that of my wife's sister."

"Ah!" Elizabeth cried. "And I suppose _we_ are well suited because we are both equally stubborn and opinionated?"

"You have said it, not I," he answered calmly. "But I know you agree with what I say about Mrs Bingley."

"I do. My Jane has found a man worthy of her, and one whom she deserves. I can wish nothing better for her."

"Who could wish more for any of our loved ones?" Mr Sutcliffe said. "A harmonious couple - such as our friends the Darcys - is the very type of earthly happiness. It does others good merely to see it."

Elizabeth coloured a little at having her marriage held up as an example in this way; but Mary joined in with parallel remarks, learned but far less apt or expressive, on domestic felicity from some of the classical authors, and from there the conversation took a new direction.

Mr Sutcliffe left his house in the morning before the others, to prepare for the service, and his guests, closely followed by the servants, walked to the church some time later. They found places, and Kitty amused herself by looking around at the interior as the remaining seats were filled, with, it seemed to her, less distinction in placement between the genteel and the common than was usual. The church was, in fact, a little more ornately decorated than she was accustomed to; and once the service began, she recognized the slight differences Mr Sutcliffe had mentioned. She felt it gave the service an interest that it usually, in her own mind, lacked. The music, in spite of the small and rustic choir, was lovely. Then Mr Sutcliffe went to the pulpit to deliver his sermon.

The sermon dealt with the subject of Christian charity. Everyone in the church was unusually quiet and still as he spoke, with none of the signs of inattention or restlessness common during the course of a sermon. Kitty found herself listening at first with interest, then with fascination. Mr Sutcliffe spoke in much the same way he had written in his little book: simply yet eloquently, with the potent impact of sincere feeling, honestly expressed. He spoke of brotherly love as if the idea had been introduced to him only recently, and he was in the grip of a newfound passion he was eager to pass on to all his acquaintances. He applied these concepts to situations anyone might encounter in their lives. His voice, setting aside for the moment the ordinary timbre suitable to dinner-table conversation, expressed feelings without discomfiture, quietly but freely. He was clearly speaking from the heart. It was impossible to scoff at or ignore his message. Kitty sat and listened, her mouth slightly open, as she took in feelings and ideas that were completely unfamiliar to her.


	9. Further Adventures

_"My idea of good company...is the company of clever, well-informed people, who have a great deal of conversation; that is what I call good company."  
>Persuasion<em>

* * *

><p>The service came to an end, and Kitty followed the others as they moved toward the exit. Her head was a confused whirl of thoughts and feelings she found hard to define. She felt a powerful and comforting sensation that a benevolent Providence was guiding her, however unaware she had been of such loving guidance in the past. She felt that every action of hers was significant in its effect on others, and felt the weight of responsibility for each harsh word or lack of charity she had committed in the past. She felt a desire to somehow be a better person, and more than that, the vague idea that such a thing might actually be possible. It was a state of mind she had never experienced before, particularly not in church.<p>

Mr Sutcliffe stood outside the church doors, greeting the congregants as they passed by. This was a ritual familiar to Kitty, but in Mr Sutcliffe's church it seemed to take on greater significance, and the exchanges were often more than mere polite greetings. Many stopped to shake his hand, to speak well of his sermon, to ask after his health and, in some cases, to speak to him of some illness, mishap, or trouble in their own lives. Consequently, the passage from the church proceeded very slowly, with a great many people prevented from leaving by the gathering blocking the front door, who seemed to accept this delay and pass the time by chatting among themselves, or by tidying the church, unasked. "Mr Sutcliffe seems to be highly regarded by the members of his church," Mary observed. "I have rarely seen such particular attention given to a clergyman. Perhaps the novelty of his style of service, and his unusual manner of delivering sermons, piques their interest. While that may _seem_ purely beneficial, one must surely be cautious of turning devotional acts into entertainment."

"I do not believe there is any need for concern," Mr Darcy said firmly. "While Mr Sutcliffe and I have disagreed on some details, I do not believe his congregation is attracted by mere novelty. Their regard comes from his continuous efforts on their behalf. He is not one of those clergymen who view their work as merely administrative. He considers the people of his parish as under his care, and does whatever he can for them."

They reached the doorway at last, and while most of the rectory guests merely smiled at Mr Sutcliffe, no greeting being necessary after so short a separation, Mary made a point of stopping to remark on some reference made during the sermon. Mr Sutcliffe answered her, and as she moved on, Kitty gathered her courage, seeing that the parishoners had nearly all gone, and stepped up to him. "I did like your sermon, Mr Sutcliffe, _so_ greatly, I can hardly tell you how much. It was so...it made me feel as if I should like to do better, somehow, and as if...as if everything _mattered_ so much more than I had thought. It was..." Here she broke off, her supply of words and of audacity running out at the same moment. "I do not know how to express it," she said, flushing at her lack of fluency, "but I am _so_ glad I happened to be here today."

"Thank you, Miss Bennet," he replied gravely, neither remarking upon nor so much as smiling at her rambling exclamation. "That is very good to hear." She said no more, but hurried after her sisters.

Elizabeth hinted that they should return to Pemberley on Monday or Tuesday, thinking that six guests at once placed an unusual burden on the household, but at Mr Sutcliffe's insistence they remained for a week, and attended his church once more the following Sunday. The week passed quickly, the rectory at Fardale offering fewer amusements than Pemberley, but the company and the conversation always entertaining, and the walks quite lovely, less well managed but perhaps even more pleasing in their natural state than those around Pemberley. The small but diverse library was open to the guests' use, which gave Mary particular pleasure; but even Kitty was able to find books of interest. She was surprised to find the novels of Scott and Shelley among the books of theology, poetry, and history, along with some volumes on agriculture and other practical concerns.

The visit was enlivened with lengthy, animated conversations, many of them quite diverting, for Mr Sutcliffe seemed to find humour in ordinary events, and his joviality brought out the same quality in his guests. Elizabeth seemed to be foremost among the party in finding folly and peculiarities enough to amuse everyone, and even the more reserved Mr Darcy joined in on occasion. The discussions sometimes came close to dispute, as Mr Sutcliffe and Mr Darcy seemed to be at variance on many matters large and small. They became a little brusque with one another one morning at breakfast, beginning when Kitty innocently commented on how unusual the sugar on Mr Sutcliffe's table tasted, but she could make nothing of their implicit disagreement, which seemed to take place entirely in the form of sentiments unspoken but implied. It was hours later that Georgiana had the opportunity of explaining that the presence of a particular variety of sugar suggested an active disapproval of goods obtained through slave labour, and by implication a number of related political judgments. Georgiana was good enough to talk the matter over with her friend at a simple level. Kitty was fascinated, if a little overpowered, by the sheer volume of important information outside her sphere. After some thought, she took an opportunity to privately apologized to Mr Sutcliffe for unwittingly bringing up the contentious matter, explaining that she had been ignorant of the significance of the sugar, but that Georgiana had made it clear to her. He not only absolved her of any infraction, but went on to discuss the sugar boycott with her, willingly answering her many questions, but breaking off when Elizabeth approached.

They gathered once more in the little stone church the following Sunday. The sermon, drawn from the extremely unpromising source of the genealogical lists in Chronicles, used the scriptural passages as the basis for a highly original and deeply moving discussion of God's care for even the most insignificant of His people. Kitty noticed more than one lady using a handkerchief to wipe away tears as they listened, and was reassured to find she was not alone in her reaction to Mr Sutcliffe's words.

From the church, they returned to the rectory for a light repast, then took their leave and set off. Kitty watched the church and rectory recede in the carriage window for some time, new and unfamiliar thoughts running through her head, thoughts that were connected somehow with this place, and wishing that she could stay where she was until she could work out exactly what they were.

* * *

><p>The time at Pemberley was so pleasant for the three Bennets, that they stayed on without much thinking about when their stay might be deemed too long. Midsummer passed, hay gathering began in the fields close to Pemberley, for which several servants were given leave for a week to assist their families until the hay was in; and still they remained guests of the Darcys. The two ponies which Mary and Kitty rode regularly came to be called "Miss Mary's horse" and "Miss Catherine's horse" by the stable hands, and all the servants had become familiar with every habit and preference of the three ladies, increasing their comfort and thus reducing still more the likelihood of their wishing to depart.<p>

No hints were given that the Bennets were overstaying their welcome. While relations between Mr Darcy and his mother in law never became truly warm, and his patience with her exaggerated deference and her insipid and crude conversation sometimes seemed to wear thin, his courtesy toward her never failed. His sister in law Mary he found cold, pedantic and charmless, and he privately wondered at the vast distinction between her and his lively and clever wife, but still considered her conversation preferable to the shallow vulgarity of Mrs Bennet's. Catherine Bennet, however, he welcomed more sincerely, as someone whom his very reserved sister had not only embraced as a friend on very brief acquaintance, but apparently felt sufficient affection toward to treat as a confidante. While he saw nothing in the young lady to inspire such singular regard, he was delighted by the unusual openness in Georgiana, and this alone was enough to reconcile him to the Bennets' lengthy stay.

Mary read her way through a full shelf of the library, and accepted Miss Darcy's invitation to make use of her pianoforte as often as she liked, and so neither her studies nor her daily musical practice were interrupted by her being away from home. Kitty's friendship with Miss Darcy continued to deepen, and she was now free to call her Georgiana or even, as their affection overcame reserve, by the childhood pet name of Mouse. Kitty, having no such informal title to entrust, was relieved to recall that she could at least permit her friend to advance from Catherine to Kitty, and thus keep their nominal intimacy on an equal footing.

While Mr and Mrs Darcy did not fulfill Mrs Bennet's private hopes by holding a ball at Pemberley, they did expand her social horizons by introducing her to any friends or neighbours who called during the Bennets' stay, and in addition, escorted the ladies to a dinner, a small assembly, and a ball, the Pemberley guests being included in the invitations.

The dinner was no great undertaking, being only a meal with a family distantly connected with Mr Darcy's late mother, a member of Parliament and his wife. They dined at Pemberley perhaps every two months, and invited Mr and Mrs Darcy to dine with them on alternate months, more as a matter of duty than of preference. Mrs Bennet was quite struck dumb by the regal formality of the meal, for while the family resided in a home less grand than Pemberley, they used none of the Darcys' restraint in their mode of entertaining guests. By applying her thoughts to eating her courses correctly and barely speaking, she made a far better impression than she might have, had she been comfortable enough to join in the conversation. She wrote to her sister Mrs Phillips the next morning, with an avid account of the remarkably elegant dinner she and her daughters had attended, and her surprise that such a great house as Pemberley did not do likewise. Kitty was relieved to be seated between a very deaf old man and a married lady who was eager to discuss the fictional works of Mrs Radcliffe, particularly the frightening events and happy outcome described in The Mysteries of Udolpho, saving Kitty from the challenge of conversation that was out of her depth.

The assembly was merely tea and card games at the home of a less wealthy neighbour, and was considered to be largely for Miss Darcy's benefit, as the family had two sons close to her age, and such encounters were deemed to be helpful to her in overcoming her shyness. Kitty enjoyed talking to the young men well enough herself, as they were cheerful, empty-headed boys who wanted only to tell jokes and boast about their hunting exploits; but Kitty took greater pleasure in helping Georgiana to join in the conversation by directing the subject to matters her young friend was familiar with, and by turning to her and asking for her opinion often. She quite forgot her usual practice at parties, in the days when Lydia had been at home, of flirting with any young man approaching her own age, so intent was she on making the event easier for her companion. Miss Darcy managed to say a few words now and then, and even answer questions put directly to her by the sons themselves without undue distress. She was grateful, and Kitty took pleasure in feeling useful; all the more so when Mr Darcy himself privately thanked her for her assistance with his bashful sister.

At the ball, therefore, Kitty took it upon herself to guide and assist Georgiana in much the same way. They prepared for the ball together in Georgiana's room, with the assistance of Georgiana's lady's maid. "I wish I had brought another dress!" Kitty sighed, "This one is not so pretty as yours, but Mary thought it would travel better than my favourite gown."

"I would be happy to lend you any of mine," Georgiana said.

"Oh, no! You are so tall, your gowns would drag along the floor if I wore them!"

"I suppose that is true. Well, borrow my blue sash. That will look very well on your gown."

"Thank you!" Kitty accepted the item happily, wishing she had something to lend in return, and contenting herself with helping Georgiana with her buttons and laces. She also urged her young friend to dress her hair in a less childish manner, and eventually succeeded in overcoming Georgiana's hesitancy. The maid obligingly pinned her hair in a fashion simple enough for the young lady's comfort, and both the maid and Kitty exclaimed over how adult and elegant she looked, and laughed away her notion that her brother might disapprove of so drastic a change.

"I always feel so uncomfortable at balls," Georgiana confessed, "but I think it will be easier if you are with me."

"I shall stay beside you as much as you like," Kitty told her, even stoutly declaring that she would not dance a single dance unless her friend were beside her in the set.

"Oh, but you _must_ dance! Elizabeth has told me you are a very good dancer, and I would like to see for myself."

"Then you must dance, too."

"I shall, then," she said decidedly, "if anyone asks me."

"Of course they will ask you!"

They continued to chat happily as they completed their toilette and went downstairs, where Mary was already in the drawing room, and the others joined them shortly. The ladies duly praised each other's appearance, taking particular note of Georgiana's hair, and of Elizabeth's jewelry, which was new to the Bennets and caused indiscreet raptures in her mother; and they went out to the waiting carriage.

The ball was at the residence of a distant neighbour, only a slight acquaintance of the Darcys but happy to include such an eminent family and expand the numbers attending the ball. The ballroom was decorated rather like the one at Lucas Lodge, lavishly but with little taste. However, the music was good and the floor large enough for easy dancing, which pleased some members of the party in particular; and there were quiet spaces in which to escape from the ballroom, which pleased others. The Bennets were introduced and welcomed, and the group separated to explore as they would.

Georgiana stayed close by Kitty's side, and Kitty, to avoid having her friend invited to dance before she had become accustomed to the crowd, led her into an adjoining room where refreshments were laid out. They took a cup of punch, and Georgiana pointed out familiar people and identified them for Kitty's sake.

"If any of them speaks to you, there is no avoiding a reply, for you will have to introduce me," Kitty pointed out playfully.

"Oh, I should not mind that," Georgiana declared. "Not if it is someone I know, and not a great many at one time." She followed this courageous assertion by bravely proposing they both go back to the ballroom. Once there, she hurried to a chair in the corner, and Kitty took a place beside her, noting with a sigh that there were more ladies than gentlemen present, and therefore a dearth of dance partners.

"Look, Mr Darcy is dancing with Elizabeth," Kitty pointed out. "And I thought he hated dancing."

"He does not mind so much any more," Georgiana said. "Since they have been married, he always dances several dances with Elizabeth whenever there is an assembly." She studied the dancers. "Your sister is the prettiest lady in the set, I think."

Kitty looked again. Elizabeth was talking to her husband laughingly, making him smile. "They look so happy together," she mused, "so very..."

"Harmonious," Georgiana concluded for her, as had become the practice between them.

"Yes."

As the dance ended, Elizabeth was returned to her place and was almost immediately invited to dance again. Kitty blinked in surprise at the sight of her new partner. "Is that not Mr Sutcliffe dancing with Elizabeth? I did not know he was to be here!"

Georgiana watched them. "Yes, I believe it is. He must have been introduced to our host at some point." They watched as the couple moved down the dance. "He is very graceful for so large a man."

"I don't think him so large. He is tall and strongly built, but he has a good figure."

"I suppose so."

Mr Sutcliffe invited Mary to dance the next. She danced well enough, but solemnly and with a regal air quite at odds with the other dancers, who were young and boisterous. Mr Sutcliffe spoke to her jovially throughout, laughing and seeming to try to amuse her, and at last was rewarded with a slight smile.

Just before the music ended, a young man, whom she vaguely recalled meeting at the recent card party, requested Kitty as partner for the following dance. She looked to Georgiana, who smiled an assurance that she could very well remain alone for the duration of a single reel, and Kitty accepted.

Her partner was an able dancer, and Kitty happily followed the music. She was startled to see Georgiana move down the set behind her, accompanied by Mr Sutcliffe, who was once again trying to win a laugh from his too-serious partner. Georgiana was more willing than Mary to be amused, and although blushing and keeping her eyes cast down much of the time, responded with smiles and laughter to his banter. Kitty rejoiced at her friend's unwonted courage, hoping it would lead to greater assurance, especially if she should be invited to dance by other gentlemen during the course of the evening. She gave Mr Sutcliffe a look of gratitude, glancing significantly at his partner, and he grinned back at her, seeming to take her meaning.

She returned to her place as the next set of couples assembled, and was pleased to see Georgiana standing up with a new gentleman.

She heard a voice from close beside her. "Miss Darcy has benefited from your encouragement, I see."

She turned to find Mr Sutcliffe standing beside her chair. "Oh! Yes, I hope so! She is so very shy, it's difficult for her to enjoy a ball."

"I can see that; but you have helped her greatly in that regard. She will never be a famous raconteur," he laughed, "or even moderately gregarious, but she may come to face society without alarm, and your friendship has contributed to her growth in that area."

"But she has helped me _far_ more," Kitty pointed out, "for she explains things to me that I don't understand. She has been to a good school, and she...knows about things. I feel awkward asking so many questions, especially around Mr Darcy and some of his clever friends, but Georgiana never seems to mind whispering to me what I need to know."

"As the sage said, "the beginning of wisdom is admission of one's ignorance'," Mr Sutcliffe told her, smiling.

"Then I must be well on my way to wisdom," Kitty laughed, "for I am very well aware of how ignorant I am on every subject."

He laughed with her, then said, "If you are free for the next dance, would you grant me the pleasure?"

"Oh! Thank you, I am free." Kitty concluded that, every member of her party having danced once with Mr Sutcliffe, her turn had come. He did not withdraw, but remained by her chair, chatting about the weather and making her laugh with comments about the dancers, until a new set was forming. Then he offered his arm and escorted her across the floor.


	10. Conversations

_"Travel broadens the mind."_

* * *

><p>Mr Sutcliffe was an agreeable dance partner, not perfectly adept, but very quick to correct his slight mistakes and laugh over them, and prepared to make amusing observations when the dance allowed a moment of leisure.<p>

As it happened, Kitty's dance with Mr Sutcliffe was the last before supper was served, making them by custom partners at the meal as well. Kitty gave him a glance of apology as he obligingly escorted her to the table and took a place beside her.

"It's too bad you couldn't have managed to sit with Georgiana, or my sister Mary," she told him sympathetically, "so you could talk about things."

He smiled. "Things? And are the two of us unable to discuss these _things? _Are things forbidden any mention between us? Possibly for reasons of state security?"

She laughed. "I mean, things like history or politics or music, or..." She ran dry. "Or you could have sat with Lizzy. She is very clever too, although she does not read as much as Mary."

"Mrs Darcy is breaking with convention by sitting beside her husband," he said, nodding across the table at the couple, who were in the midst of an animated conversation. "And she appears to be perfectly satisfied where she is. As am I."

Kitty nodded and took a spoonful of her soup, looking along the table. "Poor Georgiana would feel more at ease if she were beside her brother. I see she is talking to that old Colonel."

"Colonel Evans."

"Yes, Colonel Evans. I am sure he frightens Georgiana. He talks very loudly, and earlier I heard him telling stories of the war that were quite shocking."

"But it is at least fortunate that she will have to speak very little, for the Colonel seems to be a man who is happy to take all the responsibility for a conversation on himself alone."

"That's true! He was talking with that gentleman with the horrible pink cravat..."

"Mr Fairfax."

"Is that his name? Well, Mr Fairfax kept trying to reply, and he could not get a word out before Colonel Evans would take up speaking again. So perhaps it is better that Georgiana is beside him."

"_She_ will not be kept from eating her soup, at least, by the obligations of discourse."

"Since Georgiana cannot very well enjoy conversation, it is fortunate she has a good appetite."

He laughed. "A very philosophical attitude, Miss Bennet! Well, you have spoken highly of your sister Mary Bennet's learning, and of Mrs Darcy's intellect; what of your other sisters? Are you a family of prodigies?"

Kitty smiled at the idea. "No, not at all! My oldest sister, Jane, is clever enough, but she is not a scholar. Lydia is youngest, and she hates reading and study, but she was always the liveliest and gayest of us all, and the most popular at balls and parties. She still is, I suppose, although now she is married and gone away to Newcastle."

"Then I wish her joy."

"We have just come from visiting her, for she was ill recently." She frowned, remembering their visit, and also recalling the odd snatches of conversation between the Darcys which she had overheard. "I _hope_ she is happy where she is," she murmured, half to herself.

Mr Sutcliffe did not inquire into this comment, but led the conversation to the Bennets' visit to Pemberley. Kitty renewed her praise of Mr Sutcliffe's church.

"I am happy you approve of it, for my own taste is so unreliable, I must depend on others to direct me."

"I could see that there were some differences, in the church and in the service as well, but I don't understand the reason, or why some people might disapprove. I should have asked Georgiana to explain it to me."

"It is not difficult to explain." He then went on to disprove his own statement, by giving a brief but complex description of the conflicting views, the religious principles supporting each side, and some of the historical background behind the entire question, his description colourful enough to capture her interest easily. "And so, you see, one side is accused of frivolous impracticality, the other of cold pragmatism, and the Christian populace is left to choose between those two uninviting alternatives." He looked at Kitty a little consciously as he concluded. "That was rather a lengthy soliloquy, I am afraid. I hope it was not too confusing."

Kitty paused thoughtfully. "No, you explained it very well. I _think_ I understand, for the most part," she said slowly. "But I do not think_ impractical_ is a fair accusation. It seems to me that making a church beautiful and impressive is a very sensible thing to do. That is - perhaps I do not understand very well, but - what is the practical purpose of a church, after all?"

"The practical purpose?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes. It has none, in a way. That is, it has no purpose unless it is to make people feel the right way - to think of God, and of greater things, and to...to feel like being good. I know _your_ church made _me_ feel that way. And if that is so, well, then a beautiful church, with beautiful music and all the rest, is much more sensible than a plain church." She noticed his attention on her, and blushed. "I am sure that is a silly way of regarding it, but I know very little about these things."

"I do not find your opinion silly in the least, Miss Bennet. Quite the contrary," he said.

"So you are on the side Mr Darcy disagrees with?"

"I am afraid I am something of a man without a country, in this regard; for I have adopted some of the ideas from Oxford, as they appeared reasonable to me, but without accepting all of them. So I could be said to be at strife with everybody on church matters; or to be a neutral party equally in accord with both sides - depending on how each individual regards the matter."

"Or depending on whether he wishes to argue or to make peace," she suggested.

"Yes, you are right. I may be seen as a useful gauge of every churchman's level of contentiousness."

"Except your own," she added, then blushed at her boldness; but he laughed and agreed, and led the discussion in other directions.

The conversation at the supper table, although it covered many serious as well as several frivolous subjects, was one of the easiest Kitty had been involved with, at any gathering outside her own family. She found Mr Sutcliffe quite tolerant of her ignorance and happy to answer questions, whether simple or deep; and she felt free to express herself even on matters of great import, without fear of being disdained for her ignorance, nor of having the discussion greatly simplified for her sake. She also relished the unfamiliar experience of being attended to in a conversation, a courtesy she had received seldom from her sisters, never from her parents, and on a regular basis only recently from her new friend Georgiana.

The meal ended, and Mr Sutcliffe escorted her back to her seat by the wall, from which she shortly retreated to one of the bedchambers, which had been set up for the ladies' particular use, with a series of chamber pots and washstands behind screens, several looking glasses, pins, combs, and other _accoutrements de toilette_ for the guests' convenience. Kitty made use of all these while listening to the gossip circulating the room, but paying little attention, as her thoughts were still fixed on the long conversation she had just enjoyed, and the new and interesting ideas it had introduced to her mind.

She returned to the ballroom to find Georgiana once again standing up with Mr Sutcliffe, and smiling and talking with him much more freely than before. Kitty smiled as she watched, and was startled at the sudden appearance of a young man asking for the next dance. She absently agreed.

She was agreeably surprised to find herself engaged for all the remaining dances, in spite of the dearth of gentlemen, and ended the ball tired but happy. Georgiana joined her as she completed the final set, and praised her dancing and her great (if belated) popularity. Elizabeth stopped long enough to tell her the carriage had been ordered and should be ready for them in a few minutes before moving on to thank their hostess. Kitty stood and prepared to find the door, but Mr Sutcliffe approached and spoke to them, thanking both for the dances and Kitty for the intriguing conversation, and expressing hopes of seeing them again before long. He made a point of coaxing a response from Georgiana, giving Kitty a smile of complicity when he received an answer that was not only audible but consisted of more than three words. He took both their hands and wished them a good night once more before hurrying off to his own waiting carriage.

It was only when they were halfway back to Pemberley that it occurred to Kitty that Mr Sutcliffe's attention to Georgiana had been very particular. She reviewed it in her mind. He had asked Georgiana to dance not once, but three times, a partiality he had shown to no other lady during the course of the ball; had spoken to her frequently, taking great pains to encourage her and overcome her shyness; and had made a point of approaching Georgiana and Kitty to bid them goodbye at the end of the evening. His wishes for another meeting seemed, in retrospect, to be quite avid and sincere. She hesitated to point out his signs of preference, much less to laugh and tease Georgiana about them, as she and Lydia would once have done, for she not only felt that it would cause her friend a great deal of embarrassment, but still kept a sense of her own inferiority in tact and courtesy that held her back from becoming too boisterous in their discourse, in spite of their intimacy. However, Kitty nurtured the idea in her own thoughts, and resolved to keep careful watch over any future meetings between the two, and to take note of any opinions Georgiana might express about Mr Sutcliffe in the future. She was a little uncertain of the eligibility of the match, both because of the difference in fortune, and because she was accustomed to accepting Lydia's view of all clergymen as unworthy of attention; but having no idea how Georgiana or her guardians regarded either question, she set that aspect of the matter aside.

There is no telling how far into the summer the Bennets' stay at Pemberley might have continued, had it not been interrupted by a short letter from Mr Bennet, asking whether his wife and daughters intended to make a permanent change of residence, and if so whether he ought to redirect their post to a new address, instruct the housemaid to put dust covers over his daughters' bedroom furniture, and advise his friends to regard him for future reference as a _de facto_ bachelor. Even Mrs Bennet, given so direct a hint, was able to recognize that a visit of more than eight weeks might exceed the limits of hospitality, and announced that she and her girls were returning to Longbourne. Elizabeth renewed her offer to lend them a carriage, and Mrs Bennet wrote back to her husband that they would be home within the week.

Mrs Bennet marked the last day of their visit by finally accepting a tour of the house's gallery, which she had avoided previously, finding old portraits dull although recognizing that their appreciation was expected of any lady of elegance. She recognized a portrait and a miniature of Mr Darcy, but did not have an opportunity to perceive the familiar face of Mr Wickham, whose image had been removed from display and put away. Mary spent the day in the library, where Mr Darcy joined her briefly and made a gift of one of her preferred volumes. Kitty and Georgiana talked together of how sad their parting was, promised repeatedly to write each other often, and traded tokens of their mutual amity, even attaining the ultimate expression of friendship in an exchange of locks of hair.

The carriage was ready immediately after breakfast. Mr Spooner, Pemberley's elderly butler, with no little effort, left his pantry and honoured the guests' leavetaking with his presence at the door as they made their exit, and the three Bennets left with many thanks and expressions of affection, their satisfaction with their visit at least as great as their hosts' satisfaction with their departure. They rode very comfortably in the fine carriage, passing the journey with comparing impressions and memories of their stay at Pemberley. "I shall certainly tell Lady Lucas all about it," Mrs Bennet declared. "She may crow about her daughter being set to inhabit Longbourne some day, but my Lizzy has made a far better match, for all her boasting!"

"I do not think Lady Lucas has ever mentioned Charlotte living at Longbourne," Mary said. "It would be most inappropriate to speak of it in our presence."

"Well, I know she is thinking of it, all the same," her mother replied firmly. "But Longbourne will never by so fine as Pemberley, whatever Lady Lucas might suppose."

"Lizzy seems very happy there," Kitty ventured.

"And why should she not be? She is mistress of one of the greatest estates in Derbyshire."

Kitty felt a strong conviction that her sister's happiness resulted from much more than the possession of a fine house and a good income, but felt it would be best to keep that opinion to herself for the moment. Mrs Bennet went on talking of the splendours of Pemberley, while Kitty's mind took a melancholy turn as she thought of the place she had just left. She was already missing her friend Georgiana.

The return to Longbourne was heralded by as effusive a greeting as Mr Bennet was capable of. "Well, Mrs Bennet! So you have decided to continue your residence here, after all!"

"Oh, Mr Bennet! You knew very well that we were coming home!"

"I am careful to regard every action of yours, my dear, as unpredictable and subject to spontaneous modification. You might well have changed your mind, and taken a notion to tour Wales."

"Hello, Papa," Kitty said, kissing his cheek dutifully.

"Welcome home, Kitty, Mary." He accepted a kiss from his other daughter.

"What a lovely visit we have had, Mr Bennet!" his wife exclaimed. She began describing Pemberley in loving detail, and had got as far as the rugs in the dining room when Mr Bennett interrupted.

"But is Lizzy well?"

"Oh! Yes, to be sure, very well."

"And is she content with her new life in Derbyshire? You said little about it in your letters."

"Why, of course she is content! She is mistress of the finest estate in..."

"Yes, I realize she is materially well off; but is her situation otherwise a good one? How are relations with the sister in law who is now residing with them? Your letters did not provide much information on these matters."

"Oh, it seems fine," Mrs Bennet said carelessly, looking away as a servant announced dinner.

Kitty saw what was called for, and felt for once able to provide it. "Lizzy seems happy, Papa; truly happy and content. She and Georgiana Darcy are like sisters. She seems perfectly at home there; and she and Mr Darcy are as much at ease with each other as if they had known each other twenty years. Their marriage is very...harmonious. It seems to me she could not be happier or more well loved."

Mrs Bennet turned and stared at this uncharacteristic declaration from her daughter. Mr Bennet raised his eyebrows, but merely said, "Thank you, Kitty. That is good to know." He accompanied his wife into the dining room. "Although," he added, "such a complete lack of domestic conflict is ominous; for it suggests that trouble is merely being postponed, when five years' worth of disputes will emerge all at once."

Mary pursed her lips in disapproval at his levity, and Mrs Bennet ignored it altogether. Only Kitty laughed, thinking how much her father's humour resembled that of Mr Sutcliffe. "I do not believe it! I think they may disagree, but will never be truly in opposition."

"Well, well. I yield to your better informed opinion, my dear," her father replied with a chuckle.

The Bennet ladies rested from their journey for the remainder of the day and for the night, but in the morning they all set out to visit the neighbours they had not seen since leaving for Newcastle, beginning with the Lucases and moving on to their aunt and uncle in Meryton, and finally ending with a visit to Netherfield.

At Lucas Lodge, nobody spoke with her except Maria Lucas, who sat next to Kitty to share news of balls, flirtations, new attachments and engagements, and to urge information of a similar nature relating to Newcastle and to the neighbourhood of Pemberley. The subject of Lydia's new home and situation was discussed, led by Maria's questions, and the conversation finally moved on to Elizabeth's establishment. Kitty told what she thought would be of interest, and finding Maria fascinated by the details of the Darcys' house and grounds, expanded upon that subject, delighting Maria with a minute description of the ball they had attended near the end of their visit. Kitty finally asked how Charlotte and her little family did, and took her turn to listen.

She was barely spoken to at their other calls, apart from being greeted and welcomed home along with the rest of the party, and when occasionally included in a discussion of dress, dancing, or local beaux. Kitty found herself back in a long familiar place in the family, and in the community; but that familiarity was disturbed by many weeks of being with people of broader interests, of engaging in more varied conversation, and most of all, of being regarded as something other than she was at Longbourn. She experienced the peculiar sensation of feeling out of place among her own family, and of being homesick for a place that was not her home.

* * *

><p><em>Note: The line, "...what is the practical purpose of a church, after all?" and the concept behind it is borrowed from the novel <span>Oscar and Lucinda<span> by Peter Carey._


	11. At Home in Hertfordshire

_"Children of the same family, the same blood, with the same first associations and habits, have some means of enjoyment in their power, which no subsequent connections can supply."  
>Mansfield Park<em>

* * *

><p>The three Bennets concluded their day of visiting with a call at Netherfield, as planned. They were received warmly, welcomed back to Hertfordshire, and made comfortable in the drawing room. Mrs Bennet refused an invitation to dinner that day, but extended one to Mr and Mrs Bingley for the following day.<p>

There was a great deal to talk about, and once the necessary discussion of Jane's condition and increased size had been carried out, Mrs Bennet had made all the indelicate remarks that came immediately to mind, and speculation about the sex of the expected child had had its potential exhausted, the conversation moved on to news of the absent sisters.

Mrs Bennet spoke for some time on how ill her youngest daughter had been, how well she looked by the time they had departed, and how merry their life in Newcastle seemed to be, among so many fine, amusing gentlemen and ladies, and how popular dear Lydia was with the wives of the regiment. Jane listened soberly, asked one or two questions about Lydia's well being, and allowed her mother to move on to the subject of Pemberley, which she described at some length before recollecting that Mr Bingley was probably quite familiar with his friend's estate. "You have probably been there many times, Mr Bingley, and already know everything I am telling you."

"I am familiar with Pemberley, and if you recall, my wife and I stopped there briefly during our wedding trip."

"Oh, yes! Of course, you both know it. Well, it is a fine place, and we had a lovely visit altogether."

"Lizzy writes that Kitty became close friends with Mr Darcy's sister," Jane said.

"Did she?" Mrs Bennet exclaimed, looking at Kitty in surprise. "Well, I suppose she is right, for Kitty and Miss Darcy _did_ seem to be always going here and there together, talking about who knows what. She seemed to be a skittish, timid girl who barely spoke a word to the rest of us, but with Kitty she was always whispering away."

"I like Georgiana very much," Kitty said, feeling a little provoked by her mother's description but finding no words to defend herself.

Jane smiled at her. "And Mary, I have heard, was quite enchanted with the library at Pemberley, and the fine pianoforte." Mary assented, spending a few minutes giving a dry summation of some of the works she had perused.

Eventually everything that could be said about their trip had been said, and Kitty ventured to notice some changes in the park around Netherfield. Mr Bingley was at last in a position to speak, for he had assisted his landlord in the planning of the grounds, and he happily invited them all to take a walk in the vicinity and give their opinions on the improvements. They accordingly left the house to stroll outdoors.

Kitty found herself falling into step beside her eldest sister, who was, she noticed, walking more slowly than was usual for her. "I hope you are feeling well, Jane," Kitty ventured nervously.

"Perfectly well, Kitty, thank you. Very happy, certainly."

"I suppose Mr Bingley is hoping for a little boy."

"We shall both be delighted with whatever is given to us, I am sure."

"Are you...?" She hesitated, and Jane looked at her inquisitively. "Perhaps I ought not to ask this."

"Ask whatever you wish, Kitty."

"Are you afraid?"

Jane smiled at her. "Yes, a little. I know it is an ordeal, but other women go through it, and I suppose I can as well. I will find it well worth the happy conclusion, I am sure. As the Bible says, when a woman sees her new-born child, she forgets the birth pangs in her joy."

"Does it really say that?"

"Yes, dear; but only as a metaphor, I believe."

"There does not seem to be much in the Bible about women's concerns. At least, not much that is read out in church here in our parish." Jane was at a loss to reply, and Kitty went on, "I should be very much afraid, I think. But you are braver than I am."

"I have been reassured by the things Mrs Gaskin has told me."

"Who is she?"

"The midwife who helps Dr Salter."

"Oh! Well, I shall not ask you about that for now."

Jane laughed. "Very well. Wait until your own time comes."

"If it does come."

"I am sure it will in time. But there is no need to worry at present."

"No." She mused quietly. "It is strange that there is so little real preparation for such a great change in life, so many new demands."

"A great change? Do you mean having a child?"

"Yes, and being married."

"Some would say that living one's entire life in a family is preparation enough."

"Yes, but...I think it may not be. _I_ do not feel ready, certainly, and can hardly imagine I will feel so in five years, or even longer. There should be a school for girls, where they can learn all about being a wife and a mother, and ask any questions they like without being told it is impertinent."

"What an interesting school that would be!" Jane said, bemused by this odd turn of conversation, as much as by Kitty's discussing any serious subject for more than a minute at once. "But what of boys? Should they not also be prepared for family life?"

"I had not thought of that. I wonder if men have to alter so very much when they marry. Perhaps they have no need of a school."

"I could not tell you; but I believe a man will have to change a great deal when he marries, if he wishes to be a good husband."

Kitty nodded thoughtfully, moved on to more general topics, and shortly surprised her sister greatly by turning the subject to that of abolition, and by displaying a certain knowledge of the subject; not a great deal, but more than Kitty had ever shown on any topic of significance.

The three female Bennets settled back into the familiar routine of Longbourn, with a few changes. Kitty, having grown used to being around people who were avid readers but who, unlike her father and Mary, were able to communicate their enthusiasm or their newfound information more agreeably, took to reading daily, beginning by completing, and then re-reading, the remaining chapters of Mr Sutcliffe's book of homilies. She walked somewhat more than previously, and found herself particularly enjoying her walks, influenced by Elizabeth's and Georgiana's well expressed love of nature. Visits included frequent calls at Netherfield, with the pleasant conversation that always took place there.

One of her errands on their next walk to Meryton was to have Georgiana's lock of hair set into a ring, which she took to wearing almost daily as a keepsake, the unfamiliar token going unnoticed by any of her family.

Kitty also began to devote much of her leisure time at home to needlework, welcoming the enjoyment she took in this small accomplishment. It occurred to her that she might do as the ladies at Pemberley had done, and use their sewing skills to provide some slight assistance to any neighbours in reduced circumstances. She suggested the scheme to Mary, who responded with cautious approval, understanding without discussion that neither their mother nor their father, for different reasons, would be useful for this purpose, Mary asked their clergyman to indicate families who could benefit from their work. He was able to point to many within walking distance. "I did not know," Kitty said to Mary on their walk home, "that there were so many in the neighbourhood who could not afford clothing for their children. It must be very disagreeable to be so poor."

"I am sure it is trying," Mary said. "The church does provide a stipend for the truly destitute."

"But it cannot be enough, if they have need of items from us."

"It is their duty to endure it patiently, and ours to provide where we can," Mary said complacently, "and it is to our credit to fulfill that duty." Kitty said no more, although she was far from satisfied.

The visits to the designated homes were surprisingly comfortable. Kitty followed Elizabeth's example in speaking to the cottagers and offering goods, avoiding any suggestion of superiority or the burden of obligation in making the donations. Mary absorbed her approach carefully, allowing her younger sister to lead the way, for she could not help but notice that Kitty's mode of offering charity was received cordially and without resentment.

Mary found the experience surprisingly congenial. She was, in fact, so well pleased with the role of benefactress that she returned to the parsonage alone to report on the success of her small endeavour, and to ask Dr Swanscott if there might be anything further she could do to help the needy in the community. He and his wife, perceiving an enthusiasm generally lacking in his parishoners, made several suggestions, and found that Miss Mary Bennet was not only agreeable to further work involving the collecting and distribution of clothing and other necessities to the less fortunate families, but was willing to consider involving herself in Dr Swanscott's most cherished scheme: that of a small school for the children of the indigent. He spoke with great warmth of the value of education for the general populace, even those families who could not afford to send their children to school, going so far as to call it a great service to the nation. Miss Bennet indicated that she would be happy to consider offering her leisure time to teaching the less fortunate girls of the parish, and she and the Swanscotts parted in mutual approval, with the agreement to meet again in a few days, when they might discuss their plans in more detail. For reasons of her own, Mary kept all this to herself for the time.

Kitty wrote very often to her friend Georgiana Darcy, and derived great satisfaction from describing not only her activities, but her thoughts and feelings, knowing from her close acquaintance during their two months' visit that these confidences would be kindly received. Georgiana responded in kind, expressing her sentiments on her own daily experiences, and adding sympathetic commentary on Kitty's life. She even, within the safety of a private letter, indulged in the occasional joke or mockery, something she rarely dared to do in a spoken conversation. As always, questions which Kitty felt foolish directing to others of her acquaintance, she made free to ask Georgiana, and so the correspondence continued to be not only satisfying but educational. She also accepted the example of her elder two sisters and wrote somewhat more often to Elizabeth and to Lydia, feeling a little disloyal at the unavoidable thought that Lydia's occasional letters seemed more and more trivial and foolish as time went on. She tried to adapt her own letters to Lydia's temperament and style of writing, but their interests and dispositions had begun to diverge, and their communication was no longer as free and intimate as it had once been, when Kitty was Lydia's particular confidante. It seemed so long ago that Lydia had singled Kitty out to be entrusted with news of her secret elopement, and yet it had been little more than a year.

All in all, Kitty found herself busier, and more agreeably occupied, than she had been before the journey to Newcastle, and she greeted each day more cheerfully than previously, and ended each day with more satisfaction. She was still largely overlooked by her parents, and spoken to by Mary only because there was seldom anyone else to talk to, but she was treated amiably by her aunt and uncle Phillips, and Jane was always happy to converse with her whenever she walked to Netherfield, which was now quite often. And so the summer waned, and signs of autumn began to appear. It was established that Jane and Mr Bingley would not go to London for the winter, as had been vaguely discussed when they had first arrived back at Netherfield, but planned to stay in the country for Jane's confinement and remain there for the foreseeable future, to everyone's satisfaction.

The autumn wore on. Kitty, having grown more enamoured of walking as a pleasant activity in itself, rather than a means to further social occasions, took Georgiana's example of practical clothing for outdoors, and spent some of her pocket money on a pair of stout, comfortable boots, heavy woollen stockings, and some flannel underthings. When Jane's figure had become drastically altered to the extent that her maternal condition could be divined from a considerable distance by even the most casual observer, and the days had become chilly, the Bingleys surprised the Bennets by announcing, during a family dinner at Longbourne, that Mr Darcy had been invited to come down to Netherfield as part of a shooting party, and that his wife would accompany him and stay with her sister until after the child was born. Kitty was quite delighted with the news. "And will Georgiana come as well?" she asked eagerly.

"I am afraid not," Jane told her, patting her hand sympathetically. "Lizzy writes that Miss Darcy has engagements with friends in London, which she had already postponed, so she will not be able to join us."

"Oh!" Kitty tried to swallow her disappointment. "Well, it will still be good to see Lizzy again."

"Yes, and I am happy she will be here when the baby arrives."

"No doubt that will be a great comfort to you," Mrs Bennet observed, "for you two were always thick as thieves."

"It is incumbent upon women to offer support to one another during trials such as this," Mary remarked.

"Well, my own sister came to me on the day Jane was born," her mother said, "and while it was pleasant to have someone to talk to, I could not say it made the event any easier."

"If _this_ is the direction the conversation is taking," Mr Bennet said, rising from the table, "perhaps it would be best if Mr Bingley and I retire and leave you ladies to work it out among you; for I have nothing useful to add, and nothing more I wish to learn on the subject, and I am sure Mr Bingley would prefer to be spared as well, bravely as he might seem to endure it." Mr Bingley accordingly rose, bowed to the ladies, and went with his father in law to the library.

"When are they arriving?" Mrs Bennet asked Jane.

"Lizzy writes that we may expect them on Thursday."

"I suppose we shall have to invite them to dinner," Mrs Bennet said fretfully. "I could invite Sir William and Lady Lucas, and perhaps some other friends; and I must tell Hill to be sure the plate is polished so the table can be at its best." She chewed her lip nervously.

"Mama," Kitty said, "you spent most of the summer with us at Pemberley, so you know that Lizzy and Mr Darcy do not always have those things on the dining table; and they seldom had guests to dinner."

"Yes, to be sure; but I would not want them thinking our dinners were inferior to anything they were accustomed to."

Mary made her attempt. "Lizzy is certainly familiar with meals at Longbourne; and even Mr Darcy has had dinner with us, before he and Elizabeth married."

"I suppose you are right," Mrs Bennet conceded at last.

"Mama, there is no need to trouble yourself in any case," Jane said. "We shall invite you all to Netherfield for dinner while Lizzy is with us, as often as you please."

"Oh! Well, that is very good of you, Jane. I suppose your housekeeper is up to the task, whatever Mr Darcy's expectations might be." Jane made no further reply, and the matter was settled.

At about midday on Thursday, the carriage from Pemberley arrived at Netherfield, containing the Darcys, their maid and valet, and two trunks of a size to indicate a visit of short to moderate length. After gathering together in the drawing room for refreshments and greetings, the party broke up into pairs, Mr Darcy joining Mr Bingley outdoors to prepare for the next day's shooting and to become reacquainted after their lengthy separation; and Elizabeth and Jane going to Jane's little parlour to reminisce, and plan, and enjoy each other's company.

Jane took care to inform her sister that the Bennets had been asked to dinner that very day. "I thought I should let you know well in advance," she said.

"To warn me, you mean!" Elizabeth exclaimed, laughing. "Thank you for the notice. I shall be sure and tell Mr Darcy as soon as they return. But we are quite accustomed to dining with Mama and the girls, you know."

"Yes, for they stayed with you...how long?"

"About two months. They became quite a fixture. Papa had to actually write a letter hurrying their departure."

"I am sure _you_ would never hint that they had overstayed their welcome."

"You're quite wrong; I _did_ hint, very slightly; but my hints were not understood, and my courteous husband could not bear that a guest be hurried away by more direct means; and so we had to wait for the visit to reach its natural conclusion."

Jane smiled at her. "I hope the visit did not become uncomfortable."

"Not very, and not often. Mama was sometimes more outspoken with other guests than we would have liked, but not to the point of real distress. Mary and Kitty were happy to join in any activity I was involved with; and they all became busy enough with pursuits of their own, that we did not have to take much trouble with their entertainment. Mary had a piano and an extensive library to keep her occupied; Mama's enjoyment of the house and grounds never seemed to diminish, and she sometimes had neighbours to chat with as well; and as for Kitty, she became such good friends with Georgiana Darcy, and they scarcely spent a moment apart during the entire visit."

"Since you were with them daily for so long, perhaps you can confirm my impression of the changes in Kitty."

"I am not sure. What changes do you mean? Not in her appearance, I think?"

"No, not in appearance, but in manner. When we met again after their absence, I was quite astonished by how different her behaviour was. She had become more sober, more able to converse upon serious subjects, more pensive, than I had ever known her. She showed more consideration of others than had been apparent before. She expressed herself better as well."

Elizabeth looked thoughtful. "If you notice such a drastic change, I will not contradict you; but I cannot say I have seen anything of the kind. I may have overlooked these changes, if they were taking place gradually in my presence. The difference would likely be more striking after a long absence."

"That is exactly my thinking. After so many weeks apart from Kitty, the change was almost shocking."

"Did you find Mary altered as well?"

"No, Mary seemed much the same. She had read a good deal during her absence."

"And wanted to declaim about the valuable lessons she had absorbed, I suppose?"

Jane smiled, but shook her head at her sister. "She has always been of a scholarly bent. Of course she wishes to share her reading. But no, it was only Kitty who seemed greatly changed."

"I shall have to pay better attention to her. If she has shown so much development, I expect it may be due to the constant society of my sister in law. Georgiana is a quiet girl, but well educated and intelligent, neither frivolous nor too somber; and refined without being in the least affected. I could not have chosen a better companion for Kitty, and I hope it has made as much of an impression as you suggest. She certainly wanted guidance."

"Yes, for she is not, I think, foolish by nature, much less unprincipled or unkind; only too easily influenced."

"That may not be a bad thing, if the influence is a beneficial and not a harmful one. And to continue on that subject," she added with a laugh, "let me mention a visit that was truly uncomfortable: my stay with the Wickhams!"

"Dear Lizzy! You are very good to have gone to poor Lydia, in spite of everything. How awkward it must have been! Tell me all about it."


	12. A New Arrival

_"My mother groaned, my father wept,  
>Into the dangerous world I leapt." <em>  
><em>William Blake<em>

* * *

><p>The Bennets arrived for dinner later that day. Mrs Bennet greeted Elizabeth with a kiss, but seemed to have regained her fear of Mr Darcy, whose salutation she met with a solemn curtsey. Mr Bennet greeted the Bingleys genially, then embraced his daughter. "It is good to see you again, Lizzy. You look well. And happy, if I am not mistaken."<p>

"Very happy indeed, Papa." She returned his hug with a smile.

"I'm pleased to hear it. I will not go so far as to say relieved." He turned to shake hands with her husband. "Mr Darcy, we meet again."

"I am very glad to see you again, Sir. I hope you are in good health."

"As much as can be expected. Well, well, it has been close to a year since we last saw each other, at your wedding to my daughter. I hope you are still as well satisfied with the arrangement as you were then."

"Even more so," Mr Darcy replied firmly. "It is daily confirmed to me that Elizabeth is a lady whom any man might be proud and happy to call wife. Or daughter, as I am sure you cannot disagree."

"Indeed, I cannot disagree. We must postpone any disagreements until a more fruitful subject presents itself. _Other_ family members, for example."

Mr Darcy smiled amiably, reflecting that Elizabeth may have inherited her father's wit, but thankfully not its sharp edge.

Mr Bennet went on, "As to being well, I hope _you_ have recovered from the surfeit of Bennets you experienced through most of the summer." Mr Darcy merely continued to smile. "Well, I shall apologize to you for their prolonged stay, as I assume _they_ have not."

"There is no need for any apology. Mrs Darcy's family are always welcome at Pemberley. Indeed, your daughter Catherine Bennet became such a friend to my younger sister, that Georgiana could hardly bear to part with her; and I valued the happy effect Miss Catherine had on her temperament."

"You astonish me, Sir. I have never known Catherine to have any noteworthy effect on another person. The girl is a natural follower; of her own accord so ineffectual, she barely leaves a footprint or casts a shadow, much less acts as a catalyst for improvement in her friends."

"I will not argue with your knowledge of your daughter, Mr Bennet; but I assure you that, in this case, it was exactly as I described it."

Dinner was announced, and the table was found to be elegant enough to alleviate any of Mrs Bennet's concerns, and simple enough for comfort. There was still news and impressions enough to be shared with those long separated from Hertfordshire, that Mrs Bennet's remarks did not make up a large proportion of the conversation, and therefore the meal was lively and pleasant for all concerned, the conversation straying often beyond mere family matters.

After dinner, Mary was easily prevailed upon to play the pianoforte, and quiet conversation could take place while the music continued. While talking, Jane brought out her work basket, displaying to Elizabeth the little gowns she had been preparing, and Elizabeth offered to add her own efforts by decorating one of the items. Kitty eagerly joined them, asking to do her part, and readily joined in the conversation. Jane and Elizabeth subtly sounded her on her time at Pemberley, her activities since, and her thoughts on any topic that arose. Kitty, her attention fixed mostly on her needlework, noticed no particular attention, and answered their questions without hesitation.

By the end of the evening, Elizabeth was forced to allow that Kitty had undergone something of a transformation, too subtle for her to have recognized it at Pemberley, but clear enough once she made a point of paying attention. She told Jane so, after the Bennets had returned home that evening.

"I am a little surprised I did not notice it when she was with us," Elizabeth told her sister. "I begin to recognize how little any of us took note of Kitty. She was only Lydia's shadow for many years past; and as she was never as troublesome as Lydia, did not even receive the attention of being worried over, scolded or curbed, except through Lydia. I confess, even now I think of her mostly as an accomplice to Lydia, or as a companion to Georgiana, but have little idea of her as a person in her own right. It is a terrible thing to acknowledge about one's own sister, but it is the truth."

The elder Bennets, meanwhile, had a very different exchange.

"It was so delightful to have all the girls back together again," Mrs Bennet observed as she took a final cup of tea before going upstairs for the night. "Most of my girls, I should say; for my dear Lydia was not present. Would it not be lovely to have her come and stay with us, especially now, when her sisters are all close by?"

"I beg you to abandon the subject, Mrs Bennet. Even to attend at Lydia's sickbed was a concession, but it will be expanded no further. Lydia will certainly never come to Longbourn again while there are other sisters at home to be corrupted by her example."

"Mr Bennet, you are so severe to your own daughter!"

"I have other daughters, Mrs Bennet, and I am attempting to do my duty to the two remaining at home. Also to the two eldest."

"To Jane and Lizzy? But how can it affect them? They are already married!"

"They might still have their respectability compromised. Lydia has done enough harm to the family's good name." His wife, who was fatigued, relinquished the argument. "Fortunately, even her most strenuous efforts were unable to discourage our dauntless sons in law, but that was by sheer good luck." He set his cup aside. "Lizzy seems content with her new life, I think."

"Oh, she is vastly happy, I am sure. She has a fine establishment, and even Mr Darcy seems less disagreeable than we thought at first."

"Yes, I believe he has changed for the better; or else we misjudged him to begin with." He remembered his earlier conversation with Mr Darcy. "Did you notice any change in Kitty, since returning from your travels?"

"In Kitty? She is just the same as always. If there is any difference, it is only that she has become duller than ever. She used to be such a lively girl, when Lydia was at home."

* * *

><p>The shooting party was to set out early the following morning. Mr Bennet agreed to join, for the first day at least, and arrived at Netherfield in good time. Jane, as Mr Bingley explained, was still sleeping, and therefore not available to greet him. "She is often fatigued just now, as you may imagine," he said with a look of concern, "and her sleep is frequently disturbed, so I encourage her to sleep on in the morning if she is able."<p>

"I am sure her weariness is perfectly normal in her circumstances," Elizabeth assured Mr Bingley.

"Quite so," Mr Bennet agreed rather absently.

"And very kind and thoughtful in a husband, to take such care," Elizabeth added, smiling at Mr Bingley.

"I shall take note of his example for future reference," Mr Darcy said, earning a smile of his own.

"Yes, well; are we ready for the hunt?" Mr Bennet asked.

Mr Bingley was explaining that they were awaiting the rest of the party, just as the others appeared: two more young gentlemen from the neighbourhood, the Dunne brothers, whom the genial Mr Bingley had become acquainted with during his previous stay at Netherfield. They were introduced, and the party set off.

They brought servants enough to manage the guns, as well as one aging retriever from Longbourne and a second and younger one belonging to the elder Mr Dunne. The outing involved far more talking than shooting, but was no less pleasant for that, and the men still returned with a good brace of birds, certainly enough for the next day's dinner.

The gentlemen went out every morning for the rest of the week, and concluded with a large dinner party, including the Bennets and several families from the neighbourhood, who gladly came to dine on wild fowl and play cards. Mary once again provided music after dinner, for Elizabeth was happy to step aside and enjoy her time with Jane rather than play; and Mary found herself well pleased to be set apart as the sole musician at Netherfield gatherings.

The following two days were quiet ones, during which the two young couples were able to forego the necessity of being pleasant to people they found sometimes irritating, vulgar, or tiresome, and to enjoy the society of congenial friends. Elizabeth and Jane took long walks every day, for their own enjoyment and because it was prescribed as beneficial to a woman in Jane's condition, and talked together as before; while the two gentlemen rode together and renewed their own friendship.

On the third day after the game dinner, before daybreak, a rapid knocking sounded on the door of the Darcys' bedchamber, almost immediately followed by another, even more frantic rapping. Mr Darcy leaped from his bed, confused and anxious, groped in the dark for his dressing gown, and finally reached the door. Mr Bingley was standing there, holding a candle and looking distraught. "Bingley! What is the matter?" Mr Darcy exclaimed. Elizabeth sat quietly in the dark, listening.

"It is Jane! Darcy, can you please ask your wife to come to her room as soon as she can? I believe it is her time, and I have no idea..."

"Yes, of course! I'm sure she will come as quickly as possible."

"Thank you!" Mr Bingley said fervently, and immediately hurried away down the corridor.

Mr Darcy returned to the bed and began fumbling about for the matches. "You heard, my dear?"

"Yes! Of course I'll go to her at once." Mr Darcy managed to light a candle, and she rose from the bed and hurried to dress, trying to remember what little she knew or had heard about childbearing. "I hope I can be of help to her, or at least offer some comfort."

"Your presence alone will be a comfort, I am sure."

"I hope so."

"Shall I send for your maid?"

"No, no. I do not want to spare the time, and I would not want to disturb Fraser so early." She paused, realizing that she was fastening her buttons incorrectly in her hurry. Mr Darcy silently intervened and secured them for her. "Oh, I am so happy for Jane, so excited; and yet so frightened. But I must not let her see that I am concerned, for it will only make her uneasy." She took a deep breath as she quickly pinned her hair in place. "I will be calm."

Mr Darcy took both her hands in his. "I know you will provide what your sister needs. I have the greatest possible confidence in your abilities, especially when they are inspired by affection. I shall dress, and stand by to stay with Bingley and keep him calm."

"Yes, please do." She quickly embraced him and hurried out the door.

Jane was in her nightdress, restlessly pacing the floor of her chamber when Elizabeth entered. "Oh, Lizzy! Thank you for coming to me. I am sorry to wake you so early."

"It appears _you_ were awoken even earlier," Elizabeth said, smiling and patting her sister's shoulder.

Jane laughed. "Yes, I have been awake for some hours, waiting to be sure the time had really come."

"She did not want to awaken me," Mr Bingley said, shaking his head.

"Not until it was truly necessary," Jane told him. Her words were cut off abruptly, and she began to pace rapidly once more. Her husband stood watching her, nervously running a hand through his untidy hair.

"Mr Bingley," Elizabeth said quietly, "perhaps you could call for Parker?" She felt that Jane's maid might be of some help until more professional assistance was required. "There is no hurry, but she could get dressed and come to the room whenever she is ready."

"Of course," Mr Bingley said, relieved to have something useful to do. "I shall send for her at once. Is there anything else I can do? Anything I can bring?" He looked over at Jane, who had stopped pacing and leaned against the bedstead with a sigh.

Elizabeth tried to summon her meagre knowledge of such matters. "If any of the servants are up, you could ask to have hot water brought, and to keep more ready through the day. Beyond that...I think, Mr Bingley, it may be time to leave and allow the ladies of the house to take charge of Jane until...until it is over."

This suggestion seemed to agitate Mr Bingley, but he accepted the suggestion. "Yes, of course! Jane, dear, I shall go. I hope it will not be too..." Words failed him.

Jane embraced him. "Dear Charles! Please, do not worry. It is something every woman goes through. Let Mr Darcy stay with you and keep your mind occupied, so you will not worry."

"Perhaps I _should_ be worrying! Is it not the business of a husband in such cases? I should not want to shirk my customary duty." He laughed weakly, clearly trying to calm himself with his efforts at humour.

Jane smiled and kissed him. "I shall be fine; and when I see you again, I can introduce your new son or daughter to you."

Elizabeth went to a far corner of the room, pretending to busy herself with items in a bureau drawer, to allow the couple to finish their tender farewells. She saw the humour in a woman in the travails of childbirth acting as comforter to her husband, rather than the reverse, but could not really laugh to herself over it. It was too typical of Jane, and she was made happy by the care both parties in the marriage took for one another. She rejoiced for her sister's good fortune in the choice of a spouse, and in passing, for her own as well. When she heard the bedroom door close, she returned to Jane, just as her sister was struck with another pang, and clung tightly to Elizabeth until it subsided.

Parker came to the room about thirty minutes later, as Jane's suffering had begun to increase. Fortunately, she was a widow with experience in women's matters, and helped to keep Jane comfortable and calm, making suggestions that seemed to ease the pain somewhat.

The sun rose, and the servants could be heard moving about the house. At Parker's suggestion, Jane ate a little bread and milk to keep up her strength. At about midday, Parker noted that the process seemed to be moving along with surprising speed, and suggested that an attendant be sent for. Jane agreed, and Parker hurried downstairs to arrange for a manservant to go and fetch the midwife.

"Soon, dear Jane," Elizabeth said, supporting her sister as she paced restlessly around the room. "Parker thinks it will not be so very much longer."

"I am glad of it," Jane said fervently, trying to smile.

Mrs Gaskin arrived an hour later, bringing with her, along with a large, well worn leather satchel and a a great bundle of unknown materials, an air of authority and calm which put everyone at ease, including Jane herself. Elizabeth found her presence very welcome, for Jane's labour seemed to have become stronger and more continuous, and she feared being left alone to welcome the new family member without assistance.

"Should we send for the doctor?" Elizabeth asked. Mrs Gaskin replied that it should be deferred a little longer, as Dr Salter did not like to be brought in until the birth was imminent. Another hour passed, more bread and milk was taken, followed this time by sickness and a still greater increase of pain, before Mrs Gaskin announced that the time for the child's arrival was very close at hand. The manservant was sent out once more to fetch Dr Salter.

Jane finally left off walking about her room, and seemed inclined one moment to sit down, and the next to stand, leaning against the bedpost. She had begun to make sounds that did not suggest pain as much as strenuous effort, making Elizabeth hopeful that the worst of Jane's ordeal might be at an end. Mrs Gaskin, with great composure, spread a sheet upon the floor, then took from her blanket-wrapped bundle a small, folding wooden stool of odd design, which she unfolded and placed atop the sheet. She invited Jane to take a seat upon the chair whenever she felt inclined to produce her child. Jane, in a rather dazed state, seemed to find that statement quite reasonable; she rose and took her place on the little stool, passively allowing the midwife to adjust her position slightly and to move her nightgown out of the way.

Mrs Gaskin requested Elizabeth to stand at Jane's side and take her hand to provide comfort, and to occasionally use a damp flannel to wipe her brow and face of the perspiration resulting from strong effort. Elizabeth did as she was asked. The time seemed to pass quickly from then, with Jane bearing down ten or more times before her attendant abruptly knelt on the floor in front of her, deftly receiving into her hands a small, wet, red faced infant. While Jane and her sister watched in amazement, the midwife quickly and gently dried the child, wrapped it loosely in a small blanket, and placed it in its mother's arms. Jane stared down at the infant's face, and gasped as the small eyes opened and stared back into hers. "Oh, Lizzy! Just look! Is it not the most beautiful baby?"

"Yes," Elizabeth replied, with less than perfect sincerity, for the small face was wrinkled and swollen into a grotesque form; but she was willing to grant Jane's child the presumption of great beauty at some future time. For the present, she allowed her reply to indicate spiritual beauty.

"It is healthy?" Jane anxiously asked the midwife. "Is everything well?"

"Perfectly well, Ma'am," Mrs Gaskin replied, keeping a watchful eye on mother and child as she washed her hands.

"Thank God!" Jane exclaimed. "But is it a boy or a girl?"

"That is for you to discover, Ma'am," the midwife answered with a hint of a playful smile, "whenever you are prepared to do so."

Jane cautiously unwrapped the small bundle, peering into the blanket's folds for an answer. "Lizzy! It is a little girl! I have a daughter!"

The two sister's embraced each other, Jane finally giving way to tears, and Elizabeth following her example. They restored their composure, and rewrapped the infant girl in her blanket. Mrs Gaskin, bearing a basin, moved closer to perform her final task, just before a light rap on the door came and Dr Salter appeared at last. He was too late to do anything more than instruct the midwife, quite unnecessarily, on how to manage the afterbirth, and to take credit for the entire undertaking. He took the time to examine both patients, and to declare Jane and her newborn in excellent health. He was gracious enough to thank Mrs Gaskin pleasantly for her assistance as he took up his untouched leather case and prepared to depart, promising to look in on his patient the following day. "Congratulations, Mrs Bingley. I shall give your husband the happy news as I leave," he said to Jane.

"Thank you, Doctor," she replied.

"It was my privilege, Mrs Bingley," he replied solemnly, as a look of mutual understanding and amusement passed between Elizabeth and Mrs Gaskin, who seemed to share a common enjoyment of the small examples of human folly.


	13. Alice And Her Family

_"Heaven lies about us in our infancy."_  
><em>Wordsworth<em>

* * *

><p>The efficient Mrs Gaskin, with Elizabeth's assistance, tidied Jane, had her change into a clean nightgown, and helped her into bed. She quickly folded the birthing chair, neatly re-wrapped it, and set it in a corner; and bundled up the used linens and placed them out of sight for the laundrymaid to deal with. "Better for the Mister not to be faced with too much of the evidence," she said with a wink to Elizabeth. She then placed the freshly bathed baby in Jane's arms, in time for Mr Bingley to cautiously make his way into the bedroom. He found his wife sitting up against several pillows, her hair brushed and neatly braided, her expression calm and happy, cradling a newborn. His reaction was such as to give great satisfaction to the sentimental mind, for he stared dumbfounded at his new family, dropped to the bed beside Jane, took her hand and kissed it fervently, then burst into tears. He blurted out his concern for her over the past hours, while Jane quietly soothed him until he was fit to greet his daughter.<p>

The midwife caught Elizabeth's eye and nodded toward the door, and the two women quietly slipped out of the room, leaving the new parents to become acquainted with their offspring. "I shall stay nearby for an hour or two," Mrs Gaskin told Elizabeth, "and be sure all is well. But we should leave them alone for a time."

"Then perhaps you will join me downstairs for a cup of tea?"

"Thank you, Ma'am. That would be most welcome."

The two women went to the breakfast room, where Elizabeth had tea and toast brought. "I should thank you," Elizabeth told her, "not only for taking such good care of my sister, but for encouraging me to stay with her."

"It helps the ladies, to have someone dear to them at hand."

"Yes, I can see how that might be; and I'm glad I was able to be with her. But it was helpful to me as well. I am not long married, and I feel better able to face such an event myself, now that I have seen Jane through the birth of her child." The woman nodded thoughtfully. "Is there anything more I can do for Jane?"

"Well, Ma'am, it would be helpful to have food and drink sent up to her soon, for she has not eaten in many hours."

"Oh! Of course, I shall do so at once."

"And in a little while, perhaps you can join me in Mrs Bingley's bedroom. I must ensure that the young miss has taken _her_ breakfast, before I can leave them."

Jane ate hungrily the food that was brought her, then, with the help of Mrs Gaskin's instructions, the child was fed with little difficulty. Jane was determined to feed the baby herself, and while Mr Bingley worried that the task might be too trying for his wife, he was reassured, and told that a wet nurse could easily be found later if difficulties arose. Everyone was sent from the room while the midwife examined Jane once more, and her condition being perfectly sound, Mrs Gaskin gathered her belongings and took her leave.

Mr Bingley thanked her and shook her hand enthusiastically. "Oh! Shall we arrange for your payment now, or when you return tomorrow?"

"Thank you, Sir, but my payment comes through the doctor. I am only his assistant, you see."

"Very well, then. Thank you again." He returned to his wife and child without another thought.

"His assistant?" Elizabeth repeated as she accompanied Mrs Gaskin from the room. "I hope he pays you well."

"Yes, Ma'am, fairly well. He's happy to have me stay with the ladies before he arrives, and save him a great deal of time. And, if the occasion arises, as it often does, to attend the birth in his place." Elizabeth smiled knowingly, and Mrs Gaskin met her eye. "And he likes to have the reputation as a doctor whose confinements are likely to end well."

"Indeed, he must. I am sure that is worth something to him." The woman smiled and bore her appurtenances out the door.

Mr Bingley barely left the bedchamber all day, so fascinated was he by his daughter's every movement, whimper, and small, awkward gesture, and drawn as he was to his wife's company at this time. Heedless of the impropriety of a husband spending much time in his wife's lying-in chamber, he had his own dinner as well as Jane's sent up to the room so that they could dine together. It was at this point that Jane recalled there were other family members who ought to be notified of the happy event. Elizabeth volunteered to go and inform the Bennets in person, and she kissed Jane, congratulated Mr Bingley, and left the room, as Mr Bingley was ringing to have his writing materials brought up to the bedroom, so that he might send notice to his sisters without leaving Jane for even the shortest period.

Elizabeth found her husband in the drawing room, reading. "Here you are! Thank you for keeping Mr Bingley amused during the course of the day."

Mr Darcy smiled and rose to kiss his wife. "It was somewhat beyond my ability to keep him amused, or even entirely calm; but I think I was able to distract him somewhat from his concern for his wife. Is all well?"

"Very well. The parents are supremely delighted with their child, and with each other. The child's opinion is so far held in reserve, but I cannot see that she has much to complain about." She sighed happily. "I was very glad I could be with Jane at this time."

"And has this experience frightened you away from the prospect of motherhood?"

"Quite the contrary. It has left me feeling far less anxious than before. I am now dauntless in the face of any such future enterprise of my own."

"I am gratified to hear it," Mr Darcy replied with another caress, "for it is my sincere hope that a second happy event may be looked forward to at some point."

"We must be patient," Elizabeth replied, recognizing the unspoken concern that nearly a year had passed since their wedding, with no sign of children as yet. "We cannot all have the good fortune to bring our firstborn home from our wedding trip; but I am sure our turn will come before long."

"I am confident of it, but not the least impatient. Will you join me?" he asked, indicating the chair beside his.

"No, thank you; for I am sent to inform my family of the news."

"Then shall I accompany you to Longbourn?"

"If you please; but at this time of day, I expect to be asked to stay to dinner. Perhaps you should remain here, and I shall return directly."

Mr Darcy smiled at his wife's obvious efforts to spare him any contact with the Bennets that could be avoided. "You need not take such care. I shall not perish from one dinner with my wife's family."

"No, after more than two months of sharing a house with them, I should think you are hardened to any form of unpleasantness from your relations in law."

"You have already apologized to me for their lengthy visit; and now your father has done so as well. I feel you must all see me as painfully delicate, prone to a complete breakdown in health, or at least a fearsome show of temper, should I be required to receive guests which are not perfectly congenial to me in every way. I assure you, I am made of sterner stuff. Besides which, my sense of fair play requires me to acknowledge that _you_ have endured a great deal at the hands of my own relations, and without receiving a formal apology from even _one_ family member."

"I shall not disagree altogether; but then, you have made up for any unfortunate relations by making Georgiana my sister."

"And you, by bringing Mrs Bingley into my circle; and so, once again, neither of us holds the advantage."

"I see there is no way around it. We have an equal right to think the other ill-used, and must consider our grievances to be in a state of perfect balance. A very happy situation for any married couple."

"I believe so. But all the same, I shall take your advice, and remain here."

"Very prudent," Elizabeth told him, kissing him once more in farewell. "There is no sense in throwing oneself in the path of danger when it might be as easily avoided." She called for her cloak and hurried out to the waiting carriage.

The Bennets were, indeed, pleased to hear the news. Mrs Bennet exclaimed excitedly about their first grandchild. "And it does not even signify, it being a girl," she said happily, "for there is no entail on Mr Bingley's fortune, so they can have as many girls as they choose!"

"It must be pleasant, to enjoy the freedom to produce daughters without fearing the consequences," Mr Bennet remarked. "Or perhaps I should say, without fearing the _monetary_ consequences. And is Jane well, Lizzy?"

"She is very well, Papa, and very happy. And the child seems to be in good health as well."

"Dear Jane! I am relieved it is all over," her mother sighed. "But we were just about to sit down to dinner when you came! Come and join us, and then we will perhaps go with you back to Netherfield. Hill! Set another place for Mrs Darcy!"

Elizabeth accepted, and joined in the conversation which was, inevitably, concerned with Jane and her new baby and with little else. Mrs Bennet lapsed into reminiscences of her own maternal experiences, including far too much detail for the family's comfort, until her husband entreated her to change the subject to something more seemly for the dinner table. The newborn's name was then discussed, but even this was the source of some discord, as Mrs Bennet refused to believe that Elizabeth was ignorant of the child's name, and insisted that she was withholding the information for some mischievous purpose of her own. This topic was eventually replaced with reprimands toward Elizabeth for having failed to produce any promise of a second grandchild, despite having had ample time to accomplish this task. The meal ended at last, and the four ladies departed for Netherfield, Mr Bennet sending his good wishes but declining to join them until a few days had passed, regarding the home of a newborn to be essentially female territory.

On arriving, the new visitors were silently assessed by Mrs Gaskin, who then sternly enjoined them to visit Mrs Bingley's chamber but briefly, indicating that the new mother required rest and quiet. Elizabeth overheard a remark from Mr Bingley that suggested to her a way to be useful, and she offered to take the carriage into Meryton to fetch the nurse, who had been engaged earlier but not yet brought to Netherfield. The Bingleys gratefully accepted her offer, and on this occasion, Mr Darcy did choose to accompany his wife on her errand. "While you are there, Lizzy," her mother called after her, "perhaps you can stop at your aunt and uncle's, and tell them the good news, so they do not have to wait for a letter." She agreed, and set out once more.

Mr and Mrs Phillips were delighted to hear of the little girl's arrival, and promised to visit Netherfield the following day, and to bring a gift for the baby. The Darcys stayed only a few minutes after passing on the news, before proceeding to the address of Mrs Wilby, a widow who was staying with her son and daughter in law until her new post was available. The nurse promised to come to Netherfield as soon as her son was home to drive her, but Elizabeth insisted on providing transportation as soon as Mrs Wilby could prepare herself for the journey, pointing out that her new charge had been born earlier that day, and the family hoped to have her services available immediately. Accordingly, her trunk was loaded onto the carriage, and the woman took her place inside, across from the Darcys, with many expressions of gratitude for permitting her to travel with them. The journey was taken up with questions from Mrs Wilby concerning the health of the child and details of the Bingley household, and the nature of the questions assured Elizabeth that the woman was intelligent and capable enough to perform her duty to everyone's satisfaction.

On returning to Netherfield, Elizabeth found that the Bennets had seen the new baby and were in the drawing room comparing their impressions. Elizabeth introduced Nurse Wilby to the housekeeper, then once more went upstairs to Jane, followed by Kitty, who wished another look at her little cousin.

After advising the housekeeper and the new parents that the baby's nurse was on the premises, Elizabeth was at last informed that her niece's name was to be Alice Jane Olivia Bingley. It was explained to her that Mr Bingley had wanted to christen the baby Jane, after her mother, but that Jane had objected, and her husband had consented to at least give the title a lower place. The name Olivia was in honour of Mr Bingley's late mother, and Alice was simply a name which both parents thought pleasing.

"I approve wholeheartedly," Elizabeth declared, "and now that a name has been chosen, we can at last be properly introduced." She bent over the infant in her sister's arms. "I am extremely pleased to meet you, Miss Alice!"

"Would you like to hold her, Lizzy?"

"Oh! Yes, thank you," she said uncertainly, sitting on the bed and carefully taking up the lightly swaddled infant.

Mr Bingley rose reluctantly from his chair. "Excuse me; I should go downstairs and keep our guests company," he said, patting Jane's hand affectionately. "I shall be back as soon as they go." Jane smiled at him as he left.

"He is certainly the picture of devotion," Elizabeth said teasingly to her sister, "and seems almost as well pleased with his first child as with its mother."

"I could not be more happy, Lizzy; and it is wonderful to see dear Charles equally happy."

Kitty hovered near Lizzy, looking down at the newly dubbed Alice lying in her arms. "May I hold her now?" she asked eagerly.

"Of course, Kitty!" Jane said, and Elizabeth carefully passed the bundle on to her younger sister.

"So tiny!" she mused to herself, touching the small fingers. The child abruptly opened her eyes. "Oh! See, Jane, how she looks at me, as if she is wondering who I am!"

"Then you had better tell her," Lizzy laughed.

"Good day, Alice," she said courteously. "I am your Aunt Catherine." The baby yawned, and they all laughed with the pleasure small infants seem designed to incite by their most insignificant gestures.

"There, Kitty; you can consider this a lesson in your imaginary school."

"What school is this?" Elizabeth asked, and Jane explained.

"A very practical idea, indeed, but I do not expect I shall live to see such an institution established."

"No, but...perhaps _you_ could explain to me, so that I know what to expect someday," Kitty said hesitantly.

Jane looked a little startled. "Explain how...how Alice came to be born, do you mean?"

"Yes, if it is not improper to ask. Mama has told me a little about women's matters, but I never found her information to be very clear or helpful."

"No, nor I," Elizabeth agreed ruefully.

"Very well," Jane said, "since there are no gentlemen present, perhaps I can tell you a little more; but do not mention this outside the room, for I think some would find it wrong to give such information to an unmarried girl." She described to her sister, with carefully chosen language and omitting some detail, the experience of childbirth. Elizabeth added a few observations, from the perspective of someone merely present in the room, while Kitty listened intently. She asked one or two sensible questions, which Jane answered briefly. "I think that is all I should relate, Kitty; at least until you are married."

"Thank you, Jane. It does not seem quite so frightening now." She smiled at her sister. "Was the Bible correct, then? Did you forget your pain when your baby was placed in your arms?"

Jane laughed. "It was not completely forgotten; but it no longer mattered."

Kitty stayed with Jane, and eagerly volunteered for any useful task that related to Jane or, most especially, to her young niece, leaving Nurse Wilby almost entirely at her leisure for her first day's employment. It was after dark when the Bennets took their leave. Kitty reluctantly returned Alice to her mother and bid Jane goodbye, but not before asking leave to come again the next day.

The Darcys remained at Netherfield another two weeks, during which time Elizabeth had the opportunity not only to become acquainted with her niece, and to fully revive her intimacy with her beloved elder sister, but also to gain a greater familiarity with Kitty, whose character, just as Jane had suggested, seemed to have altered over the past year without Elizabeth's notice.

Before they took their leave, in mid December, the Darcys made a decision, inspired by a recent letter from Georgiana. A few days before their departure, they invited Kitty to accompany them back to Pemberley and to spend Christmas there. They explained this partiality by noting that Miss Darcy had requested Kitty's presence during the holiday, as her most particular friend. Mr Bennet readily gave his consent, recognizing that his daughter would be reliably supervised at Pemberley; and his wife, after expressing an unflattering surprise at anybody's yearning for Kitty's company, gave hers as well.

Mary Bennet might have harboured some resentment at being excluded from this invitation, but several considerations left her content with her situation. One was the fact that she and her parents had been invited to spend Christmas at Netherfield. Another was a series of other invitations to festivities at the Phillips' and at Lucas Lodge. But the most comforting of all was the secret knowledge, which she held in reserve and triumphantly revealed to her family a day before Kitty's departure, that she was to be occupied during Christmas, and well into the new year, with helping to preserve local families from want, as a specially appointed delegate of the parish; and a few weeks later, would take up her role as informal schoolmistress of a small, unofficial, and ill-furnished structure to be designated, for reasons best understood by Dr Swanscott, the Welbore Ellis Charity Girls' School, named in honour of a recently deceased member of Parliament. Even though her family responded to this announcement mainly with bewilderment, her perception of herself in this laudable occupation more than compensated for any slight she might henceforth receive from her family or, indeed, from any other source.


	14. Mr and Mrs Collins at Home

_"A learned fool is more a fool than an ignorant fool."  
>Molière<em>

* * *

><p>Not long before departing from Netherfield, Elizabeth mentioned to Kitty that she and Mr Darcy had some thought of first journeying to Kent, and stopping to visit Charlotte. If Kitty did not object, perhaps she could join them at Hunsford before travelling to Derbyshire. In spite of her aversion to Mr Collins, Kitty had no strong objections, particularly when she was reminded that an infant also resided at the Collins' parsonage, and was told that the visit would be very brief. Elizabeth immediately wrote to Charlotte, suggesting a visit if it did not inconvenience her or Mr Collins, and received a prompt reply warmly welcoming the party.<p>

The entire family dined at Netherfield on the last day before the Darcys' departure, during which Kitty rather shocked her relations by talking with Mary about her charitable work, not only in considerable detail and with some understanding, but also with an attitude of respect and admiration. Elizabeth privately thought that Mary's open self-consequence over her works of charity made her seem the less admirable of the two, and the less sensible, but Kitty's remarks certainly gave Mary great satisfaction.

Kitty remained at Netherfield overnight so that the travellers might get an early start, and so farewells were said in the evening, and the carriage set out for Kent just as dawn was breaking. The period of travel differed from what Kitty was used to with her mother and sisters, for there was no quarrelling; the time was passed pleasantly with alternating periods of conversation, which was lively and varied, and of quiet, during which the passengers watched the scenery, making occasional comments upon seeing a pleasing prospect, or else read books they had brought for the purpose whenever the roads were smooth enough to make reading possible.

The day was cold, and frequent stops were made. Kitty took this as an indulgence to the ladies' comfort, but in fact it was meant to give the driver and servants a chance to warm themselves at regular intervals, and Kitty was much struck by this consideration when she realized the intention. "Mr Darcy is very kind to his servants," she observed to Elizabeth when they had a moment alone. "I saw him going to his valet and making sure his hands were warm enough."

"Yes, he is very considerate of his household staff. In fact, it was Mrs Reynolds' description of him as kind and generous to his servants which truly convinced me I might be mistaken about Mr Darcy's character. Any man might be agreeable to his peers, but only a truly kind man will show concern for his paid subordinates."

"I suppose that's true." She paused, mentally running through the various homes she was familiar with, and recalling the very different manner of treating servants at each. "I would think, then, that a good character from a housekeeper or a maid may be more valuable than one from a neighbour or business associate."

"That may well be," Elizabeth said, hiding a look of surprise, silently agreeing once more with Jane's opinion of their sister's improvement. Kitty's observations were not of great significance or depth, but compared to her past reflections they were unusually apt and showed genuine thought.

In order to avoid placing an added burden upon the very small stables of the Collins' establishment, the carriage and horses were left at a post station close to Hunsford, and a hired coach took them the short remaining distance to the parsonage. To Kitty's slight relief, Mr Collins was from home when they arrived, and so they were greeted only by Charlotte. After being shown their rooms and given a few minutes to collect themselves, they were brought to a handsome drawing room and given tea. In due time, the conversation turned to the recent addition to their family, and the nurse brought Charlotte's son for their inspection. All agreed he was a fine boy, and Kitty silently observed that he seemed destined to be handsomer than either of his parents.

The child dropped off to sleep in Kitty's arms, and the nurse was about to bear him away again when Mr Collins arrived. He woke his son with his expressions of welcome, and continued talking as Charlotte took the child up and attempted to quiet him once again. The baby had been christened William, "which has the happy advantage," Mr Collins explained to all, "of at once fulfilling the custom of giving the paternal name to the eldest son, and honouring Mrs Collins' esteemed father."

"A fortunate coincidence, indeed," Elizabeth agreed.

Little William was finally calmed and taken away by his nurse, at which point Mr Collins became serious. "There is something I feel I must discuss, with apologies for introducing such a painful subject at the very outset of your visit. I have just come from Rosings," he said, glancing uneasily at Mr Darcy. "As you know, I am not unaware of the division which currently exists between Lady Catherine and yourself, Mr Darcy." At this intriguing reference, Kitty began to listen more alertly. "Her Ladyship has been good enough to keep me informed of the details, and naturally she is quite disturbed by the acrimonious situation. However, let me assure you - all of you - that this unpleasantness does not, in any way, lessen the welcome which Mrs Collins and I are willing to extend to you."

Mr Darcy caught his wife's eye. "That is very generous of you, sir."

"Not at all, Mr Darcy. I naturally have the greatest respect for yourself, and Mrs Darcy is Charlotte's oldest and dearest friend, and, I am sure, sincerely regrets being the source of this unfortunate familial breach; therefore, I am more than willing to assume the slight risk and personal detriment involved in seeming to ally myself with persons at odds with my noble patroness."

"It is no genuine risk," Charlotte quickly assured them, looking a little apologetic for her husband's indiscreet fuss. "Lady Catherine knows you are to visit."

"Yes, she is aware," Mr Collins agreed, "for I would not dream of attempting to conceal your visit from Her Ladyship. But let me assure you, so far from forbidding your stay with us, she has displayed such benevolence, such tolerance, as to say she made no objection to your visiting for whatever length of time, provided you did not attempt to come to Rosings, nor communicate with her in any way. So, as you see, my living is in no danger."

"That is a great relief to my mind, Mr Collins," Mr Darcy replied.

"When there is a division with a person of such understanding and compassion, I cannot help but think the difference must be easily resolved, and I feel it incumbent upon myself as a clergyman to suggest that, with a little effort and a proper show of humility, peace might be restored between you and your esteemed aunt...but it is not my place to advise you."

"Thank you, Sir," Mr Darcy said, with a touch of coldness. "I can assure you that we will not place you in a difficult position with regard to Lady Catherine, by attempting to visit Rosings during our stay."

"That is very good of you, Mr Darcy. I shall not bring the matter up again." Mr Collins was as good as his word. He proceeded to show the interior of the parsonage to his guests, mainly for the benefit of the one guest who had not seen it before, but taking special note of any new modification which the Darcys might not have observed. Kitty found his descriptions both tedious and comically pompous, and had to take care not to laugh. Charlotte seemed blithely unaware of how absurd her husband appeared, which rather puzzled Kitty, for she had always thought Charlotte to be a woman of some intelligence and a keen judge of character.

Later, when Kitty could find an opportunity to speak to her sister alone, she asked the cause of this family quarrel.

"Why, it is because of our marriage. Lady Catherine does not approve of her nephew's choice of wife."

"Oh! Then...I am sorry, Lizzy. Does she hate the idea of your marrying, so much that she will not allow her nephew to speak to her?"

"I am afraid so. She is quite intractable on the subject, and sees our marrying against her wishes as an act of defiance."

"But why should she disapprove? I'm sure she could not have any objection to _you_!"

Elizabeth smiled at the implied, and apparently unconscious, compliment, and answered circumspectly. "Lady Catherine hoped he would marry a woman of fortune, and someone of great dignity in society. She is...highly aware of distinctions of class. I am afraid it has resulted in a complete estrangement between Mr Darcy and herself."

"It seems strange, to be so angry just because her nephew married a woman with very little money." As she spoke, Kitty became aware that Mr Darcy had entered the room.

"Excuse me if I am intruding," he said lightly.

"Not at all, for you are the subject of our discussion." Elizabeth gestured him to take a seat beside her. "Kitty was asking about Mr Collins' reference to the...family dispute."

"Yes, I confess I overheard." He addressed Kitty. "It is not at all strange for my aunt to take such a position, I am afraid."

"I find it hard to understand. I know Lizzy has very little dowry..."

"That _should_ be immaterial to any person of discernment," Mr Darcy said firmly. "She is herself a dowry." Kitty, although largely unfamiliar with Shakespeare, recognized the words and understood their import, and was surprised at such a declaration from the very reserved Mr Darcy. Elizabeth coloured and kept her eyes down on her work, but looked pleased.

"But Lady Catherine does not think so," Kitty suggested, hoping she was not being forward.

His voice became cold. "No. My aunt's perspective is sadly narrow on certain subjects."

"Perhaps you will make peace after a time, when she is used to you and Lizzy being married."

"I think not. She has expressed her disapproval to me in a way that cannot be tolerated."

Kitty nodded, then frowned as she took his full meaning. "She spoke ill of Lizzy, you mean?"

"I am afraid so."

Kitty's expression took on a look of stern purpose. "Then_ I_ shall not go and visit her at Rosings, either, even if I should be invited," she declared emphatically.

Mr Darcy looked for a moment as if he were disposed to be amused by this, but only answered solemnly, "I appreciate your gesture of support."

The brief stay at the Collins household was not, in the end, as tiresome as Kitty had anticipated. Little time was spent in the company of Mr Collins, who walked to Rosings every day of their visit, walked into town twice, and dealt with some business at his church on three occasions. While at home, he spent a good deal of time in his study, preparing his weekly sermon. Charlotte had a parlour set aside for her personal use, and to this room she and her female guests would often withdraw for private conversation. Some time was also spent in the nursery with young William. Whether by accident or design, their private conferences were never timed so as to leave Mr Darcy alone in the company of Mr Collins. In spite of the cold weather, a walk was taken every day, during the first of which Mr Collins displayed the exterior and grounds of both his parsonage and the prospect of Rosings Park to the one guest still unfamiliar with them; but this required no response and little attention. The guests had real discourse with Mr Collins only at mealtimes, and in the evenings, when he was prepared to recount all the events of his day, with particular attention to Lady Catherine's state of mind, and the names of the guests who were currently enjoying the benefits of her cordiality.

As Elizabeth had promised, the visit was not a lengthy one. She and Charlotte bid each other an affectionate farewell, and both promised to continue to write often. Mr Collins made all his guests a very fine parting speech, concluding only when they were all in the carriage and preparing to drive off.

Kitty was quiet for the first hour of the drive. The couple with her did not notice at first, for they were engaged in amusing banter, both of them laughing and in high spirits as if their departure from Hunsford had invigorated them. In time, their conversation became more sedate, and Elizabeth at last noted that her sister had not spoken a word since the journey began. "Did you find your visit to Hunsford so very bleak, it has robbed you of speech?" she teased.

"No, not at all. Charlotte is more pleasant than I had remembered her. I did like meeting her little boy; and the walks were lovely, even in winter."

"Particularly the fine prospect of Rosings Park," Elizabeth said, with a twinkle, "and the orangery, which cost nearly four hundred pounds to construct."

Kitty glanced at Mr Darcy, and saw from his amused smile that this was an acceptable subject for humour. "Yes, and the courtyard entrance, which required the services of every bricklayer in the parish, and cost over two hundred pounds even without the cupola, which was a later addition." The Darcys laughed at her attempt to imitate Mr Collins' tone of voice. "Mr Collins has an amazing memory for figures."

"He does indeed," her sister agreed. "So you did not find the visit dreadful, after all?"

"No," she said, growing thoughtful again. Elizabeth watched her sister curiously, until she said suddenly, "It is a little like home."

"Home?" Elizabeth said in surprise. "Do you mean Longbourn?"

"Yes. Papa has his library, where everyone is to leave him alone, and Charlotte has her little sitting room. He has his own solitary pursuits, his books in particular, and Charlotte has hers. Both of them can escape when they wish." Elizabeth was still more taken aback by this comparison, which she could not, in justice, say was incorrect. In fact, she found it remarkably astute of Kitty, especially after such a short acquaintance with the Collinses' situation. "Charlotte appears to be content, but it seems as if her happiness has nothing to do with Mr Collins, but continues in spite of him. She...she works around him, the way a farmer might plough around a stump that will not be removed."

Elizabeth, and even her husband, could not help but laugh at that comparison. "I cannot disagree," Elizabeth conceded. "They are ill matched as far as taste and temperament, and to be honest, intelligence as well."

"Charlotte must have seen that. She is quite clever, I think."

"Yes, certainly."

"Then, why did she marry him?"

This was a difficult question, but a reasonable one, and Elizabeth did not want to deny her sister a truthful answer. "It is a delicate thing to talk about." She looked at her husband, and seemed to find encouragement there. "Charlotte was growing close to an age where she might begin to be called an old maid. She felt herself something of a burden to her parents, and saw no likelihood of a more agreeable marriage in her future. She was offered marriage to a respectable man, and a comfortable home, and she accepted it as her best, or perhaps her only, hope of security."

"Even knowing that she could never really...that Mr Collins was not..."

"Yes, even then."

"But _you_ would never have accepted him. You refused him instantly."

Elizabeth flushed at the mention of these unpleasant circumstances. "No, I would not. I was distressed at first, on learning that Charlotte was engaged to Mr Collins. I felt she had thrown away any chance of happiness; that she did not know her own worth. But I came to understand her way of seeing things. As she told me, she is not romantic. She has never had a very high opinion of the married state, nor for that matter of men. She values friendship well above the love of a husband."

"Indeed?" Mr Darcy murmured.

"Charlotte and I are of one mind on most matters, but we differ here. I could never accept a marriage in which there was not, at the very least, a mutual understanding, an affinity of mind and spirit, so that a true partnership is possible, rather than a mere cohabitation." She paused as she realized her words were being heard with keen attention from both her companions, flushed and went on quickly. "All the same, I had to concede the distastefulness of her situation, should she refuse Mr Collins and remain unmarried for life. She had few alternatives that were not at least disagreeable, at worst quite bleak. I regret that Charlotte could not share her life with someone able to appreciate her better qualities, but I do not blame her in the least. And to own the truth, I admire the way she has managed to arrange her life to give the least possible inconvenience to either herself or her husband."

"To plough around the stump, to use your sister's colourful metaphor," her husband added.

"Precisely."

Kitty pondered in silence a moment. "Well, I still feel sorry for Charlotte; but I can see that she is making the best of what has been given to her. She is...is seeing things in a philosophical light."

Mr Darcy raised his eyebrows. "An interesting turn of phrase, Miss Catherine."

She blushed slightly. "Someone once told me I did that, but it was only a joke. With Charlotte, it is actually true."

"Yes, I agree."

"And she and Mr Collins are to have Longbourn some day," Kitty mused to herself. "And then their little boy will inherit it in time. It seems so odd to think of!"

"At least it will be in familiar hands, and Charlotte will respect the property," Elizabeth pointed out.

"Yes. And perhaps little William will grow up to be more like his mother, and will be able to manage the estate sensibly."

The Darcys could not help but laugh at her frank appraisal of the younger William Collins' intellectual prospects. "There is that happy possibility," Elizabeth agreed.

The trip to Derbyshire was leisurely, with frequent stops for food and drink, to take in the view, or, as before, to allow the servants a chance to rest, warm themselves, and walk about. The horses, Elizabeth joked, were having an easy journey, for as they kept their own coach and horses, they made a lengthy stop at midday as well as several brief ones at intervals, and never travelled many miles in a day. When they stopped at an inn for the night, always a fine post house, she had the novel experience of being given a room to herself, a luxurious room in which she was attended by the inn's staff, and cheerfully provided with every service she might wish for. Kitty found it enjoyable but just a little uncomfortable in its unfamiliar extravagance, and was better able to take pleasure in the experience by recalling that it was temporary.

In the morning following their first day of travel, Kitty had been awake a short while, arranging items in her trunk, when a soft rapping was heard at the door of her room. Kitty opened the door to find Elizabeth's maid, a young woman with startlingly red hair and a pleasant, round face. "Excuse me, Miss Bennet," she said, in her slight Northern accent, "Mrs Darcy thought you might like my help this morning. I can dress your hair as well, if you like, Miss."

"Oh! Yes, thank you." Kitty allowed her to enter, carrying a satchel which Kitty assumed contained items for the toilette. "I'm sorry, but I've forgotten your name."

"It's Fraser, Miss." She worked quickly but courteously, efficiently identifying the garments Kitty wanted for the day, lacing her half-stays, helping her with her buttons, and finally brushing out and dressing her hair neatly and perfectly. She then offered to trim and buff Kitty's nails, a service she was unaccustomed to.

"Oh, but aren't they waiting for me downstairs? What time is it?"

Not quite eight, Miss. No, Mr and Mrs Darcy have gone for a walk before breakfast, so there is no hurry."

Kitty accepted her polite ministrations, praised her hair-dressing skills, and remembered to offer her a gratuity before she left. "Thank you, Fraser. I can see why you are lady's maid at Pemberley," she said. "You must have come highly recommended."

"That's very good of you to say, Miss." She curtsied and left the room.

Kitty ventured downstairs and found herself a little taken aback by the large, crowded dining room of the inn, but was reassured when she saw Elizabeth approach. "You're just in time. Come and have some breakfast." They were given a table in a little private alcove and enjoyed an excellent meal, and a cheerful one, as the Darcys were planning the stops they wished to make to see views and edifices of interest which were to be found along their way. Mr Darcy seemed to take a particular delight in bringing his wife to sites which he had visited before their marriage, to share his perspective of them and learn hers. They chose their itinerary for the day, and sent for their carriage.

"Thank you for sending Fraser to me," Kitty said to her sister as the coach set off. "She seems terribly good at her work."

"I believe she is. Mrs Reynolds found her for me, at Mr Darcy's request, before I came to live at Pemberley, and she was waiting for me when I arrived."

"It required some negotiation," Mr Darcy noted, "for she was about to marry a gardener from another estate, so that I had to arrange to take on both, and without appearing to be poaching servants, which can be a delicate process. Fortunately, the gardener's employer had no use for a lady's maid, and agreed to the transfer without difficulty."

"I am very much obliged to you, Mr Darcy," Elizabeth said formally.

The journey took in a great many places Kitty was unfamiliar with, including the highly imposing University of Cambridge, which Mr Darcy happily guided them through, sharing the memories each site brought to mind. They took in scenery, stately homes, locations of historic significance, and a ruined castle, as they progressed slowly toward Derbyshire. Kitty had never enjoyed a journey so thoroughly before, and half regretted seeing the distant shape of Pemberley in the distance as they finally arrived, only five days before Christmas.


	15. Christmas at Pemberley

_"Christmas is the season for kindling the fire of hospitality in the hall, the genial flame of charity in the heart."_  
><em>Washington Irving<em>

* * *

><p>Kitty took particular pleasure in being reunited with her friend Georgiana, the person whose request had brought about her invitation to Pemberley. The meeting was all that friendship could wish, for Georgiana ran to embrace Kitty on her arrival, declaring her joy at seeing her friend once again and her satisfaction at their spending Christmas together, then led her to a settee in the corner where they began to exchange news of all that had happened since they were last together, although much of the information had already been provided in long and detailed letters.<p>

"See, I have had your lock of hair made into a brooch," Georgiana said, indicating an oval pin with a neatly woven lock inside a decorative frame.

"And I have had yours set in a ring," Kitty said, holding out her hand. "The brooch is finer," she said with unthinking honesty, "but your hair is the prettier colour." She turned the ring to examine it in the light.

"Oh, I don't think that is true!"

"It is certainly true. I stand by my opinion, and you cannot disagree without causing a quarrel!"

Georgiana accepted her teasing, laughing at her friend's manner of presenting a compliment. "Very well, _I_ shall not be the cause of a quarrel."

They were called to tea, where they sat side by side, already as inseparable as during Kitty's earlier visit. Kitty paused at the first sip from her teacup, surprised by the unusual flavour. She turned to study the sugar on the table before her, then caught Elizabeth's eye significantly. Her sister's smile, and her fleeting glance at Mr Darcy, confirmed that Pemberley had indeed placed itself, or at least its tea tray, behind the free produce movement. Kitty returned the smile but made no remark, only thinking briefly of how pleased Mr Darcy's friend the Rev Sutcliffe would be.

The following days were busy and happy, and Kitty was fondly reminded of the routine of life at Pemberley. She rose earlier in the morning than at Longbourn, kept a more regular schedule, walked outdoors more frequently, and took time to read and to do needlework whenever she would have been seated and otherwise unoccupied. Taking the example of Elizabeth, who kept up with her correspondence, Kitty wrote a short letter to her parents advising them of her arrival an Pemberley and wishing them a happy holiday, and extending the same greeting to Mary, and a similar letter to Jane, adding good wishes to Mr Bingley and much love to little Alice on her first Christmas. She then wrote a slightly longer letter to Lydia, adding some news that she might not have heard, more details about her trip to Derbyshire, and wishing her the best of the season.

Kitty had just become re-accustomed to life at Pemberley when the first of the holiday guests arrived. Her aunt and uncle Gardiner had been invited to share the Darcys' first Christmas at Pemberley, and on the twenty-third of December turned up at the door surrounded by their children, full of good cheer and rather wet, for a cold rain had been falling. There were affectionate hugs for their nieces, handshakes for Mr and Miss Darcy. The children were kissed and exclaimed over, then finally sent to the kitchen with their nurse to choose sweets and settle their high spirits before returning to adult company.

"We have brought along Martha, our under-cook, to assist in the kitchen, if that meets with your approval," Mrs Gardiner said, indicating a thin girl of perhaps sixteen who stood meekly behind him, furtively admiring the entrance hall. "We thought you might be short of staff, and Martha lives too far from her family to go home for Christmas, so she was glad to come along. I hope she can be of some help."

"That is very thoughtful of you, Aunt," Elizabeth said, turning to the girl. "Martha, thank you for offering your services. I hope you'll have an enjoyable holiday here. Mrs Reynolds will show you the kitchen." The housekeeper, who had indeed appeared at her shoulder at that moment, led the girl away, trying to ease her nervousness by speaking amiably to her.

The Gardiners were amusing dinner guests, and the gathering was appropriately merry. They continued to converse genially over coffee, providing news from London, of distant family members and of business matters, and also of the entertainments provided there at this time of year. "I do not think you have been to London in some time, Mr Darcy," Mr Gardiner remarked.

"Not in many months; but Mrs Darcy and I will likely spend some time there in the near future. We have almost resolved to move to the town house to see out the worst of the winter."

"The winters do become unpleasant here, very cold and wet," Mrs Gardiner said. "I remember the area from my childhood, when I could rarely enjoy a walk during this time of year."

"And Lizzy will have a chance to enjoy London," her husband agreed. "She always seemed to find visits to our home diverting. And you had a very brief wedding trip, did you not? I think you barely stopped in London."

"For only a few days," Mr Darcy said. "We plan to travel more in the future, but at the time Elizabeth wanted to come home directly."

"Pemberley itself was such an adventure, and there was so much to be learned, I was eager to make a start," Elizabeth said.

"You appear to have learned quickly," Mrs Gardiner told her, "for you seem very much the chatelaine, quite at home and in command."

"Do I?" Elizabeth laughed. "If so, it is all due to Mrs Reynolds' patient guidance. She understands the management of Pemberley much better than I could, although she pretends to take instructions from me."

"I am sure that Mrs Reynolds would give you an excellent reference as mistress," her aunt replied, "just as she once gave Mr Darcy as master."

"Which made you start to reconsider your opinion of him," Kitty said. Only then realizing that she had revealed something told in confidence, she looked contritely at her elder sister, who only smiled.

"Did it indeed?" Mr Darcy said, catching his wife's eye playfully. "Perhaps I should have given Mrs Reynolds a larger Christmas purse."

Along with the usual holiday activities, there was decoration of the house. On Christmas Eve, great swathes of greenery were brought in, and the ladies enjoyed tying them with colourful ribbons and arranging the garlands around the house, hanging bunches of holly, and forming a handsome wreath for the front door, enveloped as they worked in the invigorating smell of evergreen boughs and laurel leaves. In the afternoon, Mr Darcy left to deliver Christmas gifts to the stable staff and other servants who lived outside the house, and Elizabeth walked through the kitchen and downstairs areas carrying an enormous basket, and distributed presents to the remaining servants in person. She returned to the sitting room with one gift remaining.

"I cannot find Mrs Reynolds," she laughed, "for she is moving too fast for me to keep track. I must give her her present when she takes a moment to rest, should that ever happen."

Dinner was announced, and Elizabeth asked the maid on their way to the dining room, "Do you know where Mrs Reynolds is at the moment?"

"Yes, Ma'am. She just went to her room a moment ago."

"Thank you." Elizabeth turned to the others. "Please, go ahead and begin. I shall be just a moment." She seized the wrapped gift and hurried away.

"Are every one of the servants given a Christmas present?" Kitty asked. She had been advised that the practice of holiday gift-giving was foregone at Pemberley, except for children, and was surprised to find such generosity toward the servants as opposed to the resident family.

"Yes, without exception," Mr Darcy replied as he carved. "It was a custom here in my parents' time, and one I approve. We like to show the servants that they are appreciated. We very much depend upon them."

Elizabeth returned to the table. "Mrs Reynolds was very happy with her shawl, and the purse of money."

"Excellent. And you should be happy to know your suggestion for the stable-master was also well received."

"As was _his_ purse, I am sure!" she laughed.

"My goodness!" Kitty observed. "You take very good care of your servants!" She tried to imagine her mother thinking to buy a new shawl for Mrs Hill, much less offering her extra money, even at Christmas.

"I believe we are more than recompensed in good service and loyalty," Mr Darcy replied, "and in any case, I feel they have all earned some occasional recognition."

"Did you give Waring her gift?" Elizabeth asked Georgiana, referring to the staid, middle-aged lady's maid who had been taken on when Georgiana had returned to Pemberley. Kitty rather suspected her of being chosen as an effective chaperone, although there had been little need for one as far as Kitty was able to see.

"Yes, this morning. I _think_ she was pleased." Kitty smiled to herself at the uncertainty, for Miss Waring was not a woman whose emotions were easily read.

The house was filled with the delicious smells of cooking well into the evening. When Kitty remarked on it, Elizabeth told her, "It is usual here, I have been informed, to have mainly cold food for Christmas, cooked a day in advance, so that as many servants as possible can be given the day free, or at least a half day."

"We let the staff choose whether to accept the holiday, or to remain," Mr Darcy explained. "If they stay, they are paid a little extra. If there are too few servants available, we offer a day's work to any in the neighbourhood who are in need of the money. Thus, everybody is satisfied."

Accordingly, servants began departing from Pemberley on Christmas Eve, while unfamiliar servants appeared from time to time throughout the day, and were placed under the tutelage of Mr Spooner, to ensure that they were prepared to meet Pemberley standards. On the morning of the feast day, the party went together to church, dividing themselves among three carriages, and on returning home presented the children with their presents. The drawing room became quite lively for perhaps an hour while they romped, then were finally taken off by their nurse, along with their new playthings, so the family could prepare for visitors.

Several neighbours, including some whom Kitty had met during her previous visit, came by to greet the Darcys and wish them a good holiday. Some remained long enough to accept a drink and toast the new year before leaving for their own festivities at home. The Pemberley steward also came by, stayed long enough for a small cup of punch and a short conversation, and took his leave, accepting as he went the final gift and a purse from Mr Darcy along with some words of thanks. A cheerful young couple who were new to the neighbourhood had been invited for dinner, and were introduced to Kitty as Sir Joseph and Lady Wainwright; and a single woman of perhaps fifty, Miss Pemberton, was also included in the party.

At two o'clock, when the calls had ceased, a final guest arrived. To Kitty's surprise, Mr Sutcliffe was announced and entered the drawing room beaming and bearing a box of oranges, which he presented to Elizabeth.

"Mr Sutcliffe! How thoughtful of you." Elizabeth passed the fruit along to Mrs Reynolds, with whispered instructions to try and include them in the meal. She introduced Mr Sutcliffe to the other guests and invited him to take a seat. "Did all go well at your church this morning?"

"Very well, thank you. There was a prodigious crowd, and I think I can say it was a joyful event. The parishoners were in such a festive mood, I was kept talking with them for some time, so that I was afraid of arriving here late."

"You must not live far, then," Sir Joseph said.

"No, my parish is in Fardale."

"Fardale? I am not yet familiar with the neighbouring towns, being newly arrived in Derbyshire."

"A very dull place," Miss Pemberton advised him. "Not a terribly small town, and the parish is a fairly good living, although not generous; but dull as dishwater. There is no theatre, no points of interest, nothing but a modest assembly hall and some tolerably pleasant scenery."

Mr Sutcliffe only laughed genially. "I believe you are right, Ma'am. Fardale offers nothing so astounding as to attract the attention of the world at large. Nothing happens there apart from the ordinary human comedies and tragedies, the usual joys and woes we all experience."

Kitty admired the way Mr Sutcliffe cordially rebuffed the insult to his residence while seeming to agree with the lady's remarks, and glancing at the Darcys, saw that they regarded it in the same way. However, Miss Pemberton looked affronted at having her snub so cheerfully deflected. Before she could speak again, Elizabeth rose and suggested it was time to dress for dinner.

"It is not such a very large party after all," Kitty said to Georgiana as they made their preparations.

"No, so many people have gone to London at this time of year. I am glad, for it is more comfortable this way."

Kitty smiled at her friend's typical concerns. "Sir Joseph and his wife seem pleasant."

"Yes, they seem so. Elizabeth has become friends with Lady Wainwright, who is quite amusing."

"And who is the older lady?"

"Miss Pemberton? She is our cousin, a very distant cousin, I believe, on our father's side. She sometimes goes to other family at Christmas, and sometimes here, for she lives quite alone apart from two servants. She is not very sociable."

"Well, Mr Sutcliffe is here, and he is amusing enough to overcome one unsociable guest."

"Yes, and Elizabeth will make up for any other deficiency." Kitty was once again reminded of how greatly her sister was valued and admired outside Longbourn, and how much her own opinion on the subject had changed in the past year.

They returned downstairs to find the party in the sitting room, now elegantly dressed, Elizabeth resplendant in her jewels, Lady Wainwright regal in velvet and a string of pearls. The relative informality of family dinners at Pemberley was replaced, in deference to the feast day, by greater ceremony, and the order of precedence was observed in entering the dining hall. Mr Darcy rose and courteously offered Lady Wainwright his arm, leading the way into the dining room, followed by Sir Joseph escorting Elizabeth, and so on until Kitty and Georgiana followed together. The table was dressed magnificently for the occasion, set with the house's best dinner service and silver, and decorated with a festive arrangement of hothouse flowers and holly. Mr Spooner marked the magnitude of the celebration by being present in the dining room as the guests were seated and solemnly overseeing the servants' activity. Mr Darcy, recognizing that the elderly man would find it uncomfortable to remain standing for long, called him aside and quietly requested he personally supervise the arrangement of the fruit, as it was to include and give prominence to a gift of oranges from an honoured guest; and then to remain and monitor the visiting servants, who might be less experienced than Pemberley staff and in need of supervision and correction as necessary. The butler bowed, and slowly and cautiously withdrew.

Mr Darcy began with a toast to his guests' good health, which was returned by the other gentlemen, and the meal began, as did the jovial conversation on the part of most of those at the table. The Christmas dinner was not, at the outset, quite as merry for Kitty as it might have been, for she was seated with Miss Pemberton on her left. She was indeed not a sociable lady; in fact, her only purpose in speaking seemed to be to disapprove of something or someone within her sight, or to grumble of troubles and small injustices in her own life. She spent some five minutes complaining of the cold during her brief journey to Pemberley, for which Mr Darcy had sent his own carriage and servants to attend her, before taking note of the identity of the person to whom she spoke. "You are Mrs Darcy's younger sister, are you not?" she asked as the soup was served.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"You are very small indeed, and very slight! Mrs Darcy makes a much finer figure."

Kitty could think of nothing to do with such a remark except agree. "Yes, and you see, Georgiana is easily a full head taller than me, or maybe more." She turned to smile at Georgiana, who sat silently on her right. "I am the shortest of all my sisters."

Miss Pemberley nodded solemnly, as if she had heard a confession of a great wrong. "I was taller than _my_ sister. She was both short and painfully thin as a girl, and yet she married well." She broke off, peering at the napkin in her hands. "Mrs Darcy, I have never seen a table napkin folded in this unusual way!" She exclaimed across the table. "Was this your housekeeper's doing?"

Elizabeth broke off her own conversation to reply. "I believe so, Miss Pemberton. Mrs Reynolds can be very innovative."

"That is one way to describe it, I suppose." She placed the offending article across her lap as Elizabeth resumed her own conversation, and turned her attention back to Kitty. "Yes, Miss Darcy is a great deal taller than yourself. I suppose you must make up for your lack of significance and _éclat_ by honing your conversational skills."

"I shall try, Miss Pemberton, but it isn't a natural talent of mine."

"Nor of mine," Georgiana added, barely audibly, from Kitty's right side. Kitty smiled her thanks for the timid words of support.

"Oh, Miss Darcy has other attributes which render her ability to speak intelligently less essential," Miss Pemberton observed drily.

Mr Gardiner, on Miss Pemberton's other side, perceiving his niece's awkward situation, said, "I suppose intelligent conversation must be desirable in anyone."

Miss Pemberton peered at him. "You are Mrs Darcy's uncle, I believe she said?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Her mother's younger brother."

"And you live in London?"

"We do."

"A long trip, especially for the time of year. It must have been very disagreeable, especially with four children."

"We could not refuse an invitation to our niece's first Christmas at Pemberley," he said, meeting her frown with a smile, "and in any case, the journey was not unpleasant. We are used to travelling with the children, and my wife and I enjoy a change of scene under any circumstances."

"Even in the dead of winter?"

"Christmas weather, is how I think of it. Besides, it makes us appreciate the spring all the more."

"You take a very cheerful attitude to everything, Mr Gardiner."

"I try to do so, Miss Pemberton."

"I hope it sustains you through future disappointments." Having delivered this gloomy benediction, she turned her attention back to Kitty, questioning her through most of the meal, while Kitty, aware that Georgiana was close beside her and able to hear her remarks, attempted to answer even the most impertinent questions both accurately and politely, Mr Sutcliffe's brief example remaining her guide throughout. The rest of the table seemed to be enjoying a very animated discussion, and there was much laughter, for the gathering included several besides Elizabeth Darcy with a lively wit, and Kitty occasionally glanced across the table a little wistfully, as she dealt with her companion's unpleasant conversation. There was, at least, some consolation in the food she was served, which was excellent.

Mr Darcy finally took note of Kitty's predicament, and managed to engage the lady in a discussion of taxation, concerning which she had firm opinions she was more than willing to share. Kitty was left to talk with Georgiana in peace until the party moved to the sitting room for coffee. There, she took care to seat herself at some distance from Miss Pemberton, and instead found herself grouped with Elizabeth and Lady Wainwright, who exchanged tales of their respective weddings and wedding trips, the facts ordinary in themselves, but the mode of telling acute and lively enough to make the accounts very amusing. Kitty and all those in their corner laughed uproariously, although Kitty saw Elizabeth throw a look of sympathy toward her husband, who had selflessly volunteered to continue as Miss Pemberton's conversational partner.

The children were brought in to say good-night to the party before being taken off to bed by their nurse. Shortly thereafter, Miss Pemberton abruptly rose while Mr Darcy was in the middle of a sentence, and announced that she was going to bed. She refused Elizabeth's offers of service apart from accepting a candle, replied shortly to the other guests' calls of good night, and left the room. The party continued for some time after she had retired, and with slightly more festivity than before her departure, for Georgiana was called upon to play. The party gathered around the pianoforte to sing, until it was generally agreed that a dance would be welcome. A small set was made up in the music room, and as Georgiana and Elizabeth took their turns playing to allow the other to join the dance, the party became quite a jubilant celebration, the guests fully at ease with one another. Laughter and dancing continued until well into the night, when fatigue finally forced them to stop, and with one final toast they took their candles and found their way up the stairs to bed, calling out jovial good-nights as they went.


	16. Boxing Day

_"Do all the good you can, and make as little fuss about it as possible."_  
><em>Charles Dickens<em>

* * *

><p>Kitty opened her eyes on the following morning to find the weak sunlight filtered through a panel of frost. She rose and looked through the icy window, to see that a light dusting of snow covered the ground and frosted the trees and shrubbery, giving it a magical appearance. A fleeting memory came to her, of awakening and looking out the window at Longbourn, and feeling irritated at the cold winter day outside, knowing that a pleasant walk would be difficult under such conditions. She could recall very well how dissatisfied she often felt, but somehow things had changed, or she herself had changed, so that she was able to take pleasure in ordinary things rather than be dispirited by their inadequacies. The fire had already been started, and she stood close to its warmth as she began to dress, so that when Waring came to offer her assistance, she had only to button Kitty up the back and dress her hair.<p>

"Is everyone up?" she asked, the indirect light making it hard to know the time.

"Everyone is awake, Miss, but only the master and Mr Gardiner are downstairs."

"Thank you, Waring. I hope you had a happy Christmas."

"Thank you very much, Miss, I did." she replied sedately, and left the room.

Georgiana emerged from her room just as Kitty was about to descend the stairs, and they wished each other a good morning with great affection. "I'm _so_ glad you're here with us!" Georgiana declared as they walked down the steps together. "With Elizabeth part of the family, and you coming to visit, this is the best Christmastime I can remember."

"I'm glad, too." Kitty was greeted warmly by her uncle, and more formally by Mr Darcy, helped herself to breakfast and sat beside Georgiana at the breakfast-room table.

The faint sound of many rapid footsteps could be heard overhead. "I believe the children are awake, and apparently active," Mr Gardiner observed. "Perhaps I should help Nurse bring up their breakfast."

"They are welcome to join us here as usual," Mr Darcy said.

"Thank you, but I believe that privilege should be restricted to occasions when only the family is present. I would not wish to impose on other guests, who may not be as tolerant of small children first thing in the morning."

Mr Darcy smiled, but accepted his refusal. "We should provide a more complete nursery, so your children can be accommodated without the need for travelling to and from the kitchen."

"I would not expect it for the sake of our visits alone, but possibly you might find such a modification of use at some future time."

"Perhaps I shall," Mr Darcy allowed, but did nothing to encourage more discussion of the subject. Although he did not resent the tactful pleasantry from Mr Gardiner, several weeks of indelicate comments from Mrs Bennet had left him with an aversion to remarks on his childless state or wishes for future additions to the family. "In any case, do not interrupt your breakfast; let one of the maids provide assistance." He caught the eye of the servant who was placing a fresh pot of chocolate on the table, and she gave a nod of compliance and returned to the kitchen.

Elizabeth joined them a short time later, taking her place beside her husband. "Georgiana, would you care to join me after breakfast? I will be bringing some food to a few of the cottagers." Georgiana smiled and nodded. "And you, Kitty?"

"Certainly." As Miss Pemberton entered the breakfast room, she caught Elizabeth's eye and repeated more emphatically, "Certainly!" earning a smile of amusement.

Mr Sutcliffe entered, greeted everyone jovially, and helped himself to a hearty breakfast. On hearing of the ladies' morning excursion, he asked if he might come along and assist them, and was welcomed.

What Kitty had expected to be brief calls with small gifts of cakes or biscuits, as was sometimes done at Longbourn on Boxing Day, proved to be something more formidable. Several large baskets and stacks of wooden boxes filled with loaves, pies, preserves, carefully wrapped joints of meat, and bottles of wine, were carried out and loaded into the carriage. The party set out, accompanied by a footman to carry the food parcels to each door, stopping at the homes of pensioners and of the poorest of the tenants, last of all calling at the tiny cottage of Margaret Chamberlain, who seemed both grateful and embarrassed by the gift. The calls were numerous but brief, and they were soon turning for home.

"Miss Chamberlain seemed reluctant to take the food," Kitty observed as they rode back to the house.

"I believe she was," Elizabeth agreed, "although she has need of it. She is a lady, but no longer in the situation of a lady, and still feels her poverty as humiliation."

Mr Sutcliffe nodded thoughtfully. "Poor woman! That would make her insolvency the more painful."

"We have one more box, for Miss Pemberton to take home," Elizabeth observed, "if we can induce her to accept it without offending her. She is like Miss Chamberlain, ashamed to take such gifts, and I have yet to find a way to offer them that will not make her angry."

"She seems to be angry about everything," Kitty said. "I am not sure why she even accepted your invitation, as she seems to dislike being at Pemberley so very much."

Elizabeth paused as if choosing her words. "Miss Pemberton has had an unhappy life. Not truly tragic, perhaps, but disappointing. I am told she was once engaged to be married to a man of her own rank, but the engagement was broken off, for what reason I do not know. She could never bring herself to accept any other proposal, and so she remained unmarried. Her brother was given most of the family fortune, while her sister married a wealthy man; and her inheritance, which may have been tolerable as a dowry, did not by itself provide a very comfortable living. She is alone and without a family of her own, living in reduced circumstances, while her brother and sister prosper. She therefore takes refuge in bitterness."

"I see," Kitty said thoughtfully. These facts placed some of Miss Pemberton's remarks from the previous evening in a clearer perspective. "But is she so _very_ poor? She dresses well, although not richly."

"Not truly poor, no; but living in a manner well below what she may regard as her proper station in life, and also less than she once had reason to anticipate. She is far from destitute."

"Then she is only making herself more unhappy."

"I am afraid that may be so. Her sister and brother would be willing to assist her, but she refuses their help. In fact, her resentment keeps them from having much contact with her."

"And so she is even more alone, and more poor, than she needs to be. It seems very wrong to...cling to unhappiness this way." Elizabeth only shook her head.

"Wrong, perhaps," Mr Sutcliffe said, "but it is a common failing. You are quite right, Mrs Darcy, to describe her as _taking refuge_ in her bitterness. I have seen people cling to unhappiness or anger when they could be happy, or at least content, if they chose. It is perhaps too ordinary a situation, and too much of her own making, to call tragic, but I pity her."

"It is hard to pity her," Kitty admitted. "It is easy enough to do _now_, but when she is present, she is too provoking to pity. I suppose that is unjust of me."

Mr Sutcliffe smiled. "I think it is only natural. Her displeasure forms a very effective shield against sympathy. Perhaps she prefers it so. But it is good of you, Mrs Darcy, to include her in your Christmas party all the same."

"My husband invites her every year," Elizabeth said. "He explained her situation, and warned me in advance that she would be disagreeable; but it seems she is reluctant to keep Christmas with her other relations, and may have spent the holiday alone if we had not included her. It is a small gesture, and she cannot ruin a very merry party unaided, however she may try. Of course," she added, with a smile at Kitty, "it is easy for me to say this - _I_ was not required to talk with her all through Christmas dinner!"

"Kitty was very kind and polite to her," Georgiana said, "and did not even resent talking with her when everyone was laughing together."

"Oh, but I did, I most certainly did!" Kitty objected. "I could hear you all having fun, while Miss Pemberton was being gloomy and questioning me like a schoolmaster!" They all laughed at her indignation, and she blushed. "At least the dinner was very good."

"As you have observed before," said Mr Sutcliffe, "a healthy appetite may go a long way toward compensating for a difficult dinner-table conversation."

She laughed with him, but did not explain the reference to the others, lest it make Georgiana uncomfortable. "Well, as there was nothing to be done, it was just as well to be polite and talk to her until dinner was over. A dull conversation at an otherwise pleasant party is not much to complain of, after all."

"With such an attitude," Mr Sutcliffe told her, "no matter your circumstances, you are unlikely to ever become a second Miss Pemberton."

On returning to the house, everyone moved immediately to the drawing room fire to warm themselves. Mr Darcy entered and greeted them. "Did all proceed well?" he asked his wife.

"Very well indeed. The gatehouse may need to be attended to, however. Some water is leaking through the roof close to the front door. The Munts offered to repair it themselves, but I told them it would be taken care of."

"Thank you, my dear. I'll have the steward look into it. Is Mrs Munt in better health?" he asked, referring to the wife of the gatekeeper.

"Yes, she was walking without a cane, and said she felt nearly well again." They conversed for several minutes in the same vein, sharing small concerns regarding the many people dependent on the estate, in a way that was compassionate and yet businesslike.

Mr Darcy ended the discussion and turned to the others. "I beg your pardon. Such domestic business is surely of no interest to our guests."

"Yes, and I believe Georgiana wished us to go to Lambton," his wife replied. "I kept the carriage waiting for the purpose. Aunt Gardiner, Kitty, would either of you care to come along?" Mrs Gardiner chose to remain, but Kitty was glad for the outing, having barely visited Lambton in all the time she had spent at Pemberley. She enjoyed the shopping excursion, something which had once been a twice or thrice weekly event at home, but which she had hardly thought of during her visit. She bought no more than a packet of needles and some thread for herself, but enjoyed watching the other ladies make their purchases.

On returning from Lambton, Kitty found a letter addressed to herself, in what appeared to be Lydia's handwriting. She sat with Elizabeth and Georgiana in the large drawing room where they had gone to read their own letters, broke the seal and read.

_Dear Kitty,_  
><em>What a surprise to get your letter sent from Derbyshire and find that you had been brought back to Pemberley for Christmas! You must be their special pet. Is Mary sick with envy, or is she glad not to be taken to that monstrous hall with all its rules and stern Mr Darcy watching over it all, and listen to Lizzy lecture on proper decorum? I have to laugh at the thought of you having to be on your best behaviour, and Lizzy being a fine lady carrying soup to the poor. She was always very stuck up and I suppose Mr Darcy and his gloomy old estate suits her entirely. I hope you play tricks on Lizzy every chance you get - it makes me laugh to think of it!<em>  
><em>Dear Wickham and I had the most happiest Christmas, for there were parties every evening for a week, and so much dancing that I thought I would wear out my shoes. You should come back to Newcastle, for there are several handsome young men who are very good dancers and would certainly cheer you up. I wager we could find you a husband in no time at all - or if not, at least there would be several very fine beaux to amuse you. Wouldn't it be a fine joke if you came here to visit and then returned home already married, as I did? Do ask to come and visit again, and Mama too, if she likes.<em>

Kitty read the short letter, then re-read it. It was very much in Lydia's usual style, but long absence had made it unfamiliar, and Kitty was once again surprised at how silly and shallow her observations seemed, how vulgar her sentiments, and how far her sensibilities seemed to have diverged from Kitty's own. She had been Lydia's closest friend and confidante, but that had changed - and not because of any change in Lydia. Kitty reflected that since her three sisters' weddings, she had often felt like a stranger to herself in one way or another.

Mrs Gardiner spoke unexpectedly. "Kitty, I was just talking with your sister about their departure for London. Your uncle and I will be leaving ourselves before long, and we thought you might like to accompany us and spend some time in town before returning home."

"Oh! Thank you, that would be lovely."

Georgiana looked delighted. "And we shall all be going to London at almost the same time, so we can still be together."

Kitty returned her smile. "You can show me what there is to see in the city, for I've never spent much time there."

"You look so pensive, my dear," Mrs Gardiner said to her. "Have you received bad news?"

Kitty turned to her aunt in surprise. "Oh! No, not at all. It is just a letter from Lydia. She invites me to come and stay with her again in Newcastle." At these words, there was a slight but noticeable change in the demeanours of the three other ladies. Her aunt and Elizabeth looked grim, which did not entirely surprise her, for she knew they did not approve of Lydia and objected to any visits from her sisters, a position which she did not entirely understand. But it was Georgiana's reaction which startled her, for her friend seemed to become suddenly very conscious and uncomfortable, even frightened.

Elizabeth spoke first. "Kitty, you know that is impossible. Papa would never allow it, and if he did, I should do what I could to prevent the visit."

"As would I," Mrs Gardiner agreed.

"But I have visited them just this past summer, along with both of you!"

"That was to nurse Lydia when she was unwell, dear," her aunt said. "The visit was questionable even then, especially from her unmarried sisters." She glanced at Elizabeth, and Kitty surmised that there had been some disagreement between them about the previous trip to Newcastle, with Elizabeth for once being the less strict on the subject. "But her health was perhaps enough of an excuse. No such justification exists now."

"But why should I need any justification to visit my own sister?"

"Kitty, you know very well what Lydia has done, and how she came to be married to Mr Wickham!" Elizabeth said, "Aunt..." in a soft, warning voice, but Mrs Gardiner was intent, and went on, "You may have thought nothing of it when you were younger and under Lydia's influence, but surely by now you have given enough thought to her shameful elopement..."

She broke off as Georgiana abruptly rose and left the room, not running but walking as quickly as possible.

"Oh, dear!" Mrs Gardiner whispered contritely. "I think I have been indiscreet. Should I go to her and apologize?"

"I think not, Aunt. She will want some time alone to collect herself."

Kitty looked at them, mystified. "Apologize to Georgiana? But why? And what has upset her so much?" She saw her sister glance at Mrs Gardiner. "Lizzy, what on earth is wrong?"

Elizabeth thought a moment. "I can say no more than this: Mr Wickham was raised here, on the Pemberley estate."

"I know that much."

"Well...his running off with Lydia caused pain to more than just our own family." She stopped, apparently determined to add nothing more.

"But Georgiana seemed so very distressed! And after such a long time, too. Did I say something that would hurt her?"

"Nothing particular, dear; but if you are her friend, please do not ask her to speak of it."

"Very well." She frowned, a little alarmed at her friend's distress and at the mystery that apparently surrounded it.

Her aunt asked no questions, and tried to change the subject. "Should you write and let your parents know about the invitation to join us in London?"

"Yes, I'll do that right away." Kitty went to the little writing desk in the corner and immediately started a letter to her father. Remembering his concern about Elizabeth's happiness in her married life, she included pleasant accounts of her sister's activities and of the splendid Christmas party, before going on to mention her aunt's suggestion and say her letters should be addressed to the house on Gracechurch Street until further notice.

Kitty did not see Georgiana again until dinner, where she seemed listless and even less inclined than usual to take part in the conversation. Nobody made mention of her low spirits or urged her to be more convivial, which led Kitty to believe that her situation had been communicated to Mr Darcy and Mr Gardiner. Mr Sutcliffe was kept occupied by a conversation with Kitty's uncle about the best book shops in London. "It is a shame you could not join the party, Mr Sutcliffe," Mr Gardiner said, "especially as you have seen so little of London."

"Thank you, but with no second clergymen available at Fardale, I try to avoid being away on Sundays except for the most exigent circumstances. Perhaps I can go to London at a later time, but for now, I must leave by Saturday morning - and with some regret, for this has been a very enjoyable visit, with the most congenial company imaginable."

"I'm sure we all return the compliment, Mr Sutcliffe," Mr Darcy said.

"Mr Darcy, I refer to you particularly; for while there are many people with whom I can enjoy a conversation in which both parties agree, there are few who can provide such an enjoyable opponent in a dispute. I shall miss our quarrels."

"I should not call them quarrels," Mr Darcy said, smiling, "for they ended as amicably as they began."

"True, I suppose a discussion must end in a secret duel to fully deserve the name of quarrel, at least among true gentlemen; but I am satisfied even without that desirable conclusion."

"I should hope so, indeed!" Mrs Gardiner exclaimed, laughing. Kitty was unable to speak for mirth, for she always found Mr Sutcliffe's odd style of joking very diverting.

"But is there no one with whom you can now wrangle?" Elizabeth asked. "Surely not _all_ the residents of Fardale are so unnaturally amicable that it would be impossible to start an argument with at least one or two of them?"

"My position makes it inadvisable, I am afraid," Mr Sutcliffe said. "I must depend on purely social occasions for an opportunity to be factious."

"At least until you marry," Mr Gardiner joked, "for dissension is a service which a wife may conveniently provide, without the need to leave home."

"Mr Gardiner, you slander us to Mr Sutcliffe!" his wife protested, although smiling as she did.

"Have no fear, Ma'am," Mr Sutcliffe replied. "I know your husband is only speaking of _my_ future wife, who must obviously be prepared for debate on a regular basis."

After coffee in the sitting room and more conversation, the party all settled to quiet occupations, the ladies taking up their work, the gentlemen mostly reading. Georgiana put down her sewing after only a short time, declaring that she had a headache and wished to walk outside, thinking the cold air might help. Kitty cautiously offered to come along, unsure of whether Georgiana was seeking solitude, but her friend immediately accepted her suggestion. "Dress warmly," Mrs Gardiner called after them.

They walked as far as the edge of the wood, speaking little, before the cold wind turned them back. Kitty went to her room to remove her heavier garments, and was preparing to return downstairs when a faint tap was heard at her bedroom door. She opened it to find Georgiana standing and looking uneasy. "Georgiana! Come in. Is something wrong?"

Her friend came in and seated herself, and Kitty took a place opposite her. She seemed prepared to speak but unsure how to begin, so Kitty added, "I could see I said something which upset you, and whatever it may have been, I'm sorry."

Georgiana took her hand. "No, there is no need for you to apologize! I only want to explain. I hesitated to tell you about it, because I should never want you to think ill of me."

"Think ill of you! I hardly think that is likely," Kitty interrupted.

"You may think differently, when you have heard it all. But you are, I believe, my true friend; and you have forgiven your sister, and so I am hopeful."

"Forgiven Lizzy?" she asked in surprise.

"No, your younger sister, Lydia." Kitty looked puzzled, and Georgiana went on. "Yes, I can tell you, for I want you to understand; but you must realize, nobody knows of this except my brother and Elizabeth - oh, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, for he was my second guardian, and had to be made aware of the terrible truth."

Kitty could not help but find this intriguing. "I promise to keep your secret, whatever it is." She waited eagerly for her friend to continue.


	17. New Information

_"One who makes no mistakes makes nothing"_  
><em>Giacomo Casanova<em>

* * *

><p>Georgiana composed herself a moment before starting to speak. "You already know, I think, that George Wickham was raised here, the son of Pemberley's former steward." Kitty indicated that she did. "He and my brother were friends as children, and I have known him my entire life. I think I can say he was a friend of mine as well, although he was much older than I was, too old to be a playmate. It was lonely here when both he and my brother went away to Cambridge; but it was at that time I was sent away to school in London, and so I had other things to occupy my mind. For many years, I rarely saw Mr Wickham, or even heard of him. I saw him when I was brought home for my father's funeral, but we spoke very little at that time."<p>

Kitty nodded in understanding, hearing little that she did not already know, and awaiting the unknown facts that had caused her friend such agitation.

"When I finished my education, my brother arranged for me to remain at the establishment set up for me in London, and engaged a lady to care for me and act as companion and chaperone. I believe he thought that he was granting me greater opportunity to be in adult society and to experience the wider world with some degree of independence. It was so very considerate of him, but the truth is, I was not entirely happy there. I was awkward at school, and found it difficult to make friends of the other girls; and while in London, I felt as if I had been set adrift from everything familiar and beloved.  
>"The lady who lived with me, Mrs Younge, was pleasant enough, and accompanied me to the theatre and to balls which she would seek out and insist on attending for my sake, but she always acted as a paid attendant, not as a friend; and she expected me to make new acquaintances, and to issue invitations and otherwise conduct my social life, without her assistance. At my age, I suppose that was a reasonable expectation, but I found it beyond me. London was full of diversions, but it was always so busy and crowded, and I missed my long walks in the beautiful countryside. I longed to come home to Pemberley, but I thought it would be ungrateful to say so after so much trouble had been taken on my account; and I thought that perhaps my brother intended my stay in London to be additional education for me. So I remained; but I was lonely."<p>

"My poor Mouse!" Kitty exclaimed, pressing her friend's hand, her curiosity forgotten for the moment in her genuine sympathy. "I hope you were brought home soon!"

"I was, but not under happy circumstances." She sighed before going on. "During the summer, it was arranged that I should take a place at Ramsgate, to enjoy the sea air. It was a pretty enough place, and more pleasant than London, but I felt all the more alone.  
>"While there, I received a visit from Mr Wickham. I was very much surprised, for I did not think he knew my address, but he had obtained it somehow. It was so good to see a familiar face, someone I had known from childhood, that I readily gave him leave to call on me again, as often as he liked. He said that he would be happy to do so, but asked that I not mention his visits to my brother, explaining that they had fallen out somewhat, and he did not want to appear to be imposing himself on the family until peace between them was restored. Kitty, I had never kept a secret from my brother, but I was so happy to have a friend to speak with, and his explanation seemed such a reasonable one, that I agreed. He continued to call often, but never during the times my brother came to see me; for, as I later learned, he had obtained Mrs Younge's assistance, and she agreed to warn him in advance if Will's presence was expected."<p>

Kitty's reaction, apart from her surprise at hearing the imposing Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy referred to by this sisterly pet name, was that the situation seemed quite innocuous apart from the minor matter of Georgiana's secrecy; but she remained silent, assuming there was more to come.

"As time went on, I came to depend on Mr Wickham's visits, looking forward to them as almost the only free and comfortable discourse I enjoyed in my new home. Therefore, I was not inclined to object when his conversation became more personal, when..." She paused, looking conscious. "We were often left alone to talk, as Mrs Younge would find it convenient to be elsewhere when Mr Wickham called - which I later found was also by design and at his request. He began to compliment and flatter me, to tell me how much my friendship meant to him. There was a very gradual change from talking as friends to something more like courtship - so gradual, that I did not notice until Mr Wickham was openly seeking my affection."

Kitty had not expected this. She sat wide eyed, taking in every word.

"When he finally declared himself, our intimacy had grown to the point where a proposal of marriage did not seem so terribly surprising. You know, I am sure, that he can be very charming and convincing, and I believed him to be both trustworthy and sincere. While I had never yet thought of marriage at all, much less to Mr Wickham, in my rather isolated state, an offer of marriage from my one familiar friend had its appeal."

"So you accepted him? You were actually engaged to Mr Wickham?" Kitty asked in amazement.

"Yes, I accepted his proposal, although I hardly like to think of it as a real engagement, furtive and ill-considered as it was. He had some difficulty convincing me that even our engagement should be kept a secret from my brother and Colonel Fitzwilliam. He told me of his fear that they would intervene, thinking him unworthy, or myself too young." Georgiana here began to speak with her eyes cast down, her face flushed. "At this point, he exerted his skills at entreaty and persuasion to the utmost. He begged me not to place him at risk of losing me over mere convention, especially as our secrecy would be of short duration. He asked me to consider the happy prospect of presenting ourselves to Will as husband and wife, and of thereby healing any conflict between them by uniting the two of them as brothers. He even suggested I ask my chaperone's opinion, if that would ease my mind. Mrs Younge suggested that I need have no fear of a suitor who was not a new acquaintance, but known to me and to my family since childhood, and that a direct offer of immediate marriage was certainly respectable; and by such comments encouraged me to trust in Mr Wickham's intentions. I later came to understand that she had been instructed in advance. I can say very little for myself, except that he was as skilled at persuasion as I was inexperienced at deflecting it, and I became convinced that his wishes were my own."

"Good heavens!" Kitty murmured. "So you planned to elope with him?"

"I am afraid you are shocked at my behaviour."

"No! No, dear Georgiana. You explain your situation very clearly, and I do understand; but still, you can imagine how surprising it all is! I had no idea at all." In fact, she was less surprised by Georgiana's behaviour than by Mr Wickham's. She wondered if Lydia was aware of this incident from his past.

"No, everyone has kept it hidden."

"But do not let me interrupt. Go on. What happened after you agreed to marry Mr Wickham?"

"As I said, I agreed not only to hide our engagement, but to make a secret marriage. He convinced me to run away with him to Scotland, where we would be married without delay. He had made the travelling arrangements and everything was in place, but within days of our planned departure, my brother paid an unexpected visit." Kitty sensed that the account was about to reach its crisis, and was all attention.  
>"Mr Wickham was with me when he arrived unexpectedly. I could see by his behaviour that it was true, that there was some discord between them, for Will was angry at the idea of Mr Wickham even calling on me. Mr Wickham protested that it was natural for him to visit someone who had been a childhood friend. By his words and looks, I could see he intended to maintain our secret, and wished me to do the same, but faced with my dear brother's concern, I found I could not continue to deceive him, and I confessed all."<p>

"Oh my!" Kitty whispered. "Was he terribly angry?"

"He was shocked, horrified - yes, and angry as well, but angry mostly at Mr Wickham, not at myself. He felt I had been deceived. I could see that he was hurt by my failure to confide in him, and that gave me great pain; but he said he understood how I had been misled. He forgave me, to my great relief. He asked me to recall the history of Mr Wickham's visits. He made me understand that Mrs Younge had been enlisted from the beginning to aid Mr Wickham in his plan to win my confidence. He also acquainted me with the cause of their dissent, which was not unrelated, for it derived from Mr Wickham's misuse of my late father's bequest to him. Mr Wickham, left with no money and no prospects, had chosen to seek out a wealthy wife. As someone with fond memories of him, I was deemed an easy target. He had no other interest in me but as a source of income; that became clear from other details which my brother described to me."

Kitty was shocked at this conclusion, so at odds with her understanding of the gallant Mr Wickham. "Is it certain? Poor though he might have been, perhaps he was not merely a fortune-hunter, but sincerely loved you. After all, he married Lydia, who had hardly any money of her own." Her fixed idea of secret elopement as deeply romantic was shaken by this sordid information.

Georgiana became flustered. "I do not mean to make any suggestions about Mr Wickham's marriage to your sister. It was two years later, and Mr Wickham had entered the militia, and so his circumstances were likely different. But it _is_ certain that it was my fortune alone which prompted his proposal to _me_. I feel I have had a narrow escape, and am grateful for it. I make no assumptions about what Mr Wickham may be like _now_, for you would know that better than I would; but I think you may now understand why I dislike hearing of him."

"Yes, I do see that. I can hardly understand it all, but...I am so sorry for what you endured. Did you never see Mr Wickham again?"

"Never; my brother ordered him away, and I have never heard from him since. I have never seen Mrs Younge again, either, for she was dismissed at once. My only news of Mr Wickham was when I heard that he had married your sister. Will told me this himself, and assured me that I would have no need ever to see him, even though he is now a relation by marriage."

Kitty chose to leave this subject alone, hardly knowing how to think of it. She briefly recalled a conversation she had overheard, in which Elizabeth and Mr Darcy had spoken of Wickham in similar terms; but she set that aside as well. "It must have been painful for you, expecting to marry and then suddenly discovered, and deprived of your one friend and your fiancé at once. Were you terribly heartbroken?"

"I was shocked and upset, but mostly I felt the guilt of keeping this from my brother. We spoke of it at length, and he was so kind and I was so unsettled, that I confessed to him how unhappy I had been away from Derbyshire. He immediately arranged for me to return home, where I have been much happier. And happier still, since Elizabeth became my sister and came to live at Pemberley."

"I am glad of that, at least." The thoughts that were unavoidably brought to her mind, of the striking incidence of two separate elopements in as many years, and of Mr Wickham's questionable motives in the first, had to remain unspoken for now. "And was there no further ill will from Mr Darcy?"

"He spoke to me of the matter once more after I returned home, and ensured that I understood where I had been mistaken; but since then, the matter has been left behind. He blames the incident on my youth and my isolation, and on Mr Wickham's effectiveness at gaining my confidence under such circumstances. Now, if I can be assured that _you_ harbour no disapproval of me, I can consider myself unburdened of the entire dreadful matter."

"Of course, I do not disapprove of you! It was only a mistake, and I could never believe that you were bad or uncaring. My poor Georgiana! I am only glad that you are here at home and happy."

"Thank you, Kitty." They embraced, some sentimental tears were shed, and they went on with their day, the matter over and done. For Georgiana, confiding in her friend had lightened the burden of a difficult memory. Kitty, however, found this new information disturbing and confusing. She found herself troubled by a great many questions, and no certainty of where she might find answers, especially in view of her promise of secrecy.

Mr Sutcliffe departed from Pemberley on Saturday morning, as planned. His warm farewell to Georgiana and herself, expressing the particular hope that he might meet with them again before long, reawakened Kitty's speculation about his regard for Georgiana, but she was too occupied by other thoughts to give this idea much attention. Sunday they all attended church together and prepared their luggage. That evening, Kitty presented Elizabeth with a fichu she had carefully worked, a simple pattern in blue and pale yellow on white silk, in keeping with Elizabeth's usual mode of dress. "As thanks for bringing me here for Christmas," she told her sister.

"Kitty, it is beautiful! Your needlework has improved since I was at Longbourn." She examined the article carefully.

"I have spent more time with it for some months," she answered, pleased.

Monday morning Kitty set out with her aunt and uncle and the four children, tightly packed into one carriage, which was fortunately drawn by four strong horses. Elizabeth, Georgiana, and Mr Darcy were to follow a day or two later, after the servants had prepared the house.

Kitty was made comfortable in the Gardiners' guest room, and over dinner her activities while in London were planned. Mrs Gardiner suggested plays and concerts Kitty might like to attend, expositions she might enjoy seeing. Each suggestion seemed to her perfectly acceptable, to the extent that she could not fix on any one she preferred over another, and she begged her aunt to choose for her. "You are very easily pleased!" her uncle exclaimed. "Well, I can do no less. I must return to work in the morning, and Mrs Gardiner may inform me when I come home what has been planned for us. I shall accept whatever I am served, I assure you." His wife laughed, and promised to at least take his strongest aversions into account before making her selections.

As the two elder Gardiner children were to return to school shortly, a day of pleasure for the children was planned, in which Kitty enthusiastically joined, accompanying her aunt and the children's nurse on their excursions, and enjoying the outing as much as any of the children. The next morning, the Darcys arrived at their townhouse, and arrangements were made for both households to attend an evening at the theatre to see a new play on the life of Mary Stuart. Mr Darcy complained of the historical inaccuracies, but Kitty found the drama exciting all the same, the costumes magnificent, and even the interior of the theatre captivating.

The following day, having been taken around to some of the sights of London and treated to an afternoon pantomime, she and the Gardiners were invited to dinner with the Darcys and some friends, and Kitty at last had an opportunity to see the town house in Russell Square which had excited so much curiosity in her mother. It was strikingly different from Pemberley, principally in its size and almost complete lack of grounds, for its front door opened directly onto the street. It was tall and narrow, being four stories high but with far more limited space and fewer rooms than the great house at Pemberley. The interior, however, was elegant and comfortable, and the amenities quite up to the standards set at Pemberley.

The additional guests were Mr and Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley, who had called on the Darcys as soon as they learned of their transfer to London, and were immediately asked to dinner. Kitty found them all a little dull after having spent time in livelier company. Mr Hurst conversed little and on few topics, and in general spoke only to the gentlemen. Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley were distinctly pleasant and ingratiating to both Elizabeth and Georgiana, and all but ignored Kitty and the Gardiners, leaving Kitty to draw comparisons between their manners and those she had recently become accustomed to.

Over coffee, it was arranged that, Mr Darcy having some business to attend to in the city, and Mr Gardiner at his office, the ladies would all attend a concert the next day. Miss Bingley spent the interval giving a knowledgeable critique of the performance, and urging Georgiana to provide her opinion as well, thus offering more opportunity to display her musical taste and understanding. Kitty, although not musical by nature and presented with unfamiliar and intricate musical selections, enjoyed the performance, by her usual means of taking pleasure in the music, the company, the appearance of the room, and any other detail of interest, in fairly equal measure. She enjoyed still more the walk through some of the more significant sites in the central part of London. Kitty's enjoyment of these might once again be described as philosophical, for she was able to view the momentous Tower of London, appreciate the building's splendour, marvel at its historical significance, shudder at the thought of vile intrigues and cruel beheadings which had long ago taken place there, then leave it behind and take equal enjoyment in the brisk walk home and the happy prospect of a fire and a cold lunch.


	18. London

_"When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life."_  
><em>Samuel Johnson<em>

* * *

><p>Mrs Gardiner was polite and indulgent but straightforward with her niece regarding the limits of her hospitality, and Kitty understood that, while plays and concerts were attended frequently as a special concession to Kitty's visit, they were not normally a daily occurrence in the Gardiner home and should not be expected throughout her entire stay in London. Kitty adjusted her expectations accordingly, and was content to be entertained, on most days, only by having daily walks varied with the aim of showing her sites of interest in London, making regular visits to the Darcy residence, and being offered her preferred dishes at dinner.<p>

A further outing was planned for Thursday: they would all, Gardiners and Darcys alike, attend a public ball at the largest assembly room in the area, one whose subscription prices were high enough to ensure a tolerably genteel company but low enough to make for a large and varied gathering. The Hursts and Miss Bingley declined to join them, Miss Bingley even taking Elizabeth aside to suggest that Mr Darcy might find such an assembly rather beneath him, and was politely thanked for her kind concern.

Kitty had become concerned that dress for an event of this kind in London was typically somewhat more elaborate than for a country dance, and Elizabeth had reassured Kitty that her clothing would be perfectly appropriate, but offered to lend her a necklace for the occasion. It was quite a fine piece of jewelry, and the offer startled Kitty somewhat. "Oh! Thank you, but...are you sure, Lizzy?" Her sister laughed and indicated that the gems would look very well on Kitty, and offered an ornament for her hair as well, which Kitty accepted with renewed thanks, wondering if it would be appropriate to ask where Elizabeth's store of jewelry had originated. Was it hereditary treasure once worn by Mr Darcy's mother, or purchased for Elizabeth since her wedding? Kitty had no clear notion of how these things were managed in wealthy families, and decided not to inquire, but laughed to herself at a fanciful image of Mr Darcy celebrating his newly married status by pouring a small chest full of gemstones into his bride's lap.

Early Thursday evening, Georgiana came to Gracechurch Street with her ball dress in a case, to help Kitty prepare and to share the anticipation of the ball, and the two young ladies set out together with the Gardiners, arriving in minutes, for the assembly hall was not far. Lively and well played music could be heard even before they entered the hall. The place was enormous, richly decorated, and extremely crowded, to the extent that no fires had been lit in the ballroom, but only in the additional rooms, in spite of the cold weather. The interior was already nearly warm enough for comfort, and would no doubt be unpleasantly hot before the dance was over.

The Gardiners and their guests were greeted by the Master of Ceremonies as they entered, and Kitty took Georgiana's arm for encouragement as they followed her aunt and uncle, watching the dozens of couples dance in the centre of the ballroom. She noticed several young men stare at them as they passed, in an oddly appraising way, then speak together as though consulting with one another. It was an uncomfortable kind of attention; and Kitty was glad when her aunt and uncle saw some people of their acquaintance and brought the young ladies to be introduced. The Gardiners' friends were men of business and their wives, pleasant enough people, whose names Kitty instantly forgot, but thought of as the cheerful couple and the somber couple. They spoke of the weather and the large attendance at the ball, until a new set began to form and the two gentlemen left to dance with their respective wives.

Kitty turned to see Elizabeth and Mr Darcy arrive, and raised a hand to greet them. Seeing the Darcys join their party, and the elegantly dressed and ornamented Elizabeth embrace Kitty and Georgiana in greeting, seemed to cause renewed interest among the young men who had been staring earlier. Kitty supposed Elizabeth was being admired, and followed the others in strolling through the rooms to investigate the entertainments being offered. A room was set aside for card games, another for refreshments, and a third seemed to be intended as a retreat for those who felt the need to withdraw from the festivities and enjoy quiet and comparative solitude. As Kitty was admiring the decoration of the room and the appearance of the guests, the Gardiners' friends moved toward them, having completed their dance. They were introduced to the Darcys, then the cheerful gentlemen genially inquired if either of the young ladies had partners for the next dance. As neither did, they all agreed among themselves to take partners from among their present group of acquaintances, until, as he put it, "the young men stir themselves and offer more attractive partners." It was not a flattering invitation, but it did serve the useful purpose of placing her on the dance floor promptly, and so Kitty had no objection. Accordingly, she found herself dancing with the somber gentleman, Georgiana with the cheerful one, and Mr Gardiner with one or another of the wives, while the rest of the party stayed behind to keep the extraneous ladies company.

Kitty's partner scarcely spoke a word to her, but he was a capable dancer, and Kitty enjoyed both the dance itself, and watching Georgiana laugh as her cheerful partner, whom she finally recalled was named Mr Greene, joked with her across the set. Kitty returned to her place, taking a moment to whisper to Elizabeth, "Lizzy, quickly, what is my partner's name?" Elizabeth, looking amused, whispered back, "Mr Utterback," quickly enough to allow Kitty to say, "Thank you very much, Mr Utterback" in a timely manner. He bowed and spoke a word or two before moving away with his wife.

"How did I ever forget a name like Utterback?" she asked Elizabeth in an undertone.

Her sister did not answer, for at that moment they were approached by the Master of Ceremonies, accompanied by two young men. "These gentlemen expressed a wish to be introduced to your party, Mr Darcy," he said. Kitty received the impression that Mr Darcy did not care for this informal mode of introduction, customary as it was in such places, but after looking to Mr Gardiner for his approval, nodded his assent. "Mr and Mrs Darcy; Mr and Mrs Gardiner; Miss Darcy; and Miss Bennet, may I present Mr Giles Huntingdon," the man paused as though to refresh his memory, "and Mr Andrew Thornhill." The two young gentlemen bowed. The Master of Ceremonies withdrew, and the two gentlemen expressed their thanks for being admitted into their acquaintance.

They were both tolerably handsome young men, in Kitty's view, Mr Huntingdon perhaps the better favoured of the two, tall and fair haired with striking blue eyes. His companion was a little shorter and darker complexioned, but his large, deep brown eyes and black curls were quite in keeping with the romantic ideal. They were both well dressed, and their manners pleasing, if just a little familiar for newly introduced strangers. A few minutes' conversation clarified the relationship of each party to the others, identifying who was brother and who was aunt to whom, established Pemberley as the estate of the Darcys, identified their own family estates, one in Yorkshire and the other in Norfolk, and provided the information that the two gentlemen had become friends at school. Finally, they came to what was undoubtedly the original purpose of the introduction, and engaged Georgiana and Kitty for the next dance, Mr Huntingdon inviting Kitty to dance, and Mr Thornhill, Georgiana.

As the new set formed, the two young ladies were escorted to their places, followed by Mr Darcy with Elizabeth. The dance was an old favourite, familiar enough to allow Kitty to converse easily without losing her place, which was fortunate as Mr Huntingdon had much to say.

"You have been staying with the Darcys, I take it?"

"I was at Pemberley for Christmas, but just now I am visiting my aunt and uncle, who live here in London."

"Ah, Pemberley! That is a fine estate."

"Yes, it's lovely there, especially in summer."

"I believe Mrs Darcy is your sister?"

"She is my elder sister. They have been married just over a year."

There was a pause while they maneuvered through the set. "Are you enjoying London?"

"Very much. There is a great deal more entertainment than at home."

"And where is home?"

"In Hertfordshire, close to the town of Meryton." He nodded. "Do you live in London, Mr Huntingdon?"

"At the moment, yes. My family has a house in Yorkshire, but I have not been there in some time. One grows used to the city, you know."

The conversation, apart from its emphasis on location, seemed typical of the kind of trivial exchange that took place during a dance, and Kitty accepted it as such. Few had the skill of holding an interesting discussion while dancing. She glanced at Elizabeth and her husband, who appeared to be in good spirits and talking animatedly. Georgiana, however, appeared less pleased with her own partner.

Mr Huntingdon took a new direction. "I must say, you and your friend look uncommonly pretty this evening."

"Thank you." This sort of comment Lydia, and therefore Kitty, had once regarded as the central goal of any ball, but Kitty barely acknowledged it, a little distracted by Georgiana's grim expression. "She always looks well. Georgiana has wonderful taste."

"Indeed. But _you_ look quite charming, Miss Bennet. Is that little necklace of yours a family heirloom?"

"No, I borrowed it from my sister." He seemed oddly dissatisfied with this answer. "I'm second youngest of five sisters, so not likely to have heirlooms."

"I see."

"Men are never asked that question, I suppose, for they have no jewelry to talk about. They are said to look well when they are dressed exactly like every other man."

Mr Huntingdon, after a confused pause, seemed to decide this was meant as wit and forced an immoderate laugh. "Very amusing, Miss Bennet." She blinked in surprise, taking his hand as they travelled down the set and back. "Well, you are an excellent dancer, Miss Bennet. I confess, I am quite enchanted by your sylphlike grace." It was Kitty's turn to laugh inappropriately, for she assumed his elaborate description to be meant as a joke. With that mutual misunderstanding, the dance ended.

Kitty and Georgiana were no sooner returned to their party, than the two gentlemen requested the next dance, this time inviting one another's previous partner. Kitty thought this seemed like something planned in advance, but accepted without a thought, Georgiana more hesitantly. The dance was quicker and more intricate than the previous one, allowing for less conversation, but what talk there was seemed to be a re-enactment of the previous discussion with Mr Huntingdon. Mr Thornhill made a series of enquiries about her family and friends and their places of residence, then proceeded to offer compliments in quick succession. Kitty concluded they were close friends who had been in each other's company so often, they had begun to speak and act similarly. She was glad to give most of her attention to the dance itself, and managed not to laugh this time when Mr Thornhill chose to praise her dancing by employing the distinctive term _sylphlike_.

She and Georgiana were this time escorted only halfway across the room before their partners abruptly bowed and withdrew to join a group of three other young gentlemen gathered in a corner. As they rejoined their party, Kitty noticed that two young gentlemen were added to the party, one of whom she recognized. "Mr Sutcliffe! I had no idea you were in London."

"For a few days only. May I introduce my friend, Thomas Ogden." Mr Ogden, an engaging young man with the unfortunate dual afflictions of ginger hair and freckles, bowed to Kitty and Georgiana and expressed his pleasure at meeting any friends of Mr Sutcliffe's.

"What brings you to London, Mr Sutcliffe?" Kitty asked.

"A reunion of old friends from school, whom I had not seen in some time, and who found they would be in town at the same time. Ogden wrote and invited me to stay with him a few days while they were all here together."

"Are they all here as well?"

"No, the other two gentlemen have already left the city. Not in order to flee our society, I'm sure, but only because they had business elsewhere."

"What a coincidence that we should all be here on the same evening."

Mr Ogden turned to smile at his friend, who appeared just a little confused by the remark. "Not entirely a coincidence, no. I had heard that Mr and Mrs Darcy were in the city, and so I stopped to call on them. They informed me that they and their friends would be attending this ball the following evening, and I decided to join them."

"And I am very glad he suggested it," Mr Ogden declared. "Apart from the pleasure of meeting some of Sutcliffe's most admired acquaintances, it is a fine, well attended affair, and the music is capital. Speaking of which, would you grant me the pleasure of the next dance, Miss Bennet?" This time, it was Mr Sutcliffe who gave his friend a significant look, of what seemed to be annoyance, but as Kitty could make nothing of their silent communication, she merely accepted the invitation. Mr Sutcliffe followed his friend's example by asking Georgiana to dance, and when a set began to form, they took their places, followed by Mr Darcy, who seemed determined to please himself and dance only with his own wife, taking no pity on the young ladies left to sit down for want of a partner.

Mr Ogden, Kitty soon discovered, was a banker in London, the youngest son of a tolerably wealthy baronet and therefore provided with a dignified upbringing and a highly prestigious education, then abandoned to make his way in the world as best he could. So Mr Ogden described his situation, but with no sign of real distress, leaving Kitty to take his words as idle banter, or at least exaggeration. On her enquiries, he admitted to having been raised on an estate in Cornwall, close to the sea, which he spoke of briefly but with great affection; and educated at Cambridge, where he and Mr Sutcliffe had met. "But I will not respond with similar questions," he said with a smile, "for I already know a great deal about _you_, Miss Bennet, and about your friends and family." At her surprised look, he went on, "Sutcliffe has told me about the pleasant visits at Pemberley, and the even more pleasant company."

"Yes, it was at Pemberley that I met Mr Sutcliffe; and he seemed to be on very good terms with everyone there."

"And once you visited his home at Fardale, I understand."

"Yes, he invited us all to stay with him and see his parish."

"And did you approve?"

"Approve?"

"Was his home one step above a hovel, in your view, or did you find it an acceptable dwelling for a gentleman?"

"Oh, perfectly acceptable! Mr Sutcliffe lives very simply on his own, but the house is large and comfortable, and well kept for a bachelor's establishment; and the surroundings are quite picturesque. It was a lovely place to walk in summer. But have you never been there yourself?"

"Yes, I have been, but I wished to hear a lady's perspective on the place."

"I see."

The rest of the dance was spent speaking of more general subjects, and of the dance itself, and Mr Ogden escorted her back to her place. Kitty took the opportunity to search out the room set aside for the ladies' comfort, where she also spent some time adjusting her hair ornament, fearful that her borrowed jewelry might come loose and be lost. As she passed through the card room, Mr Greene stopped her and asked to present an acquaintance of his, a young businessman named Mr Carter, who bowed to Kitty and immediately asked for the next dance. She accepted and indicated that she would meet him near the bottom of the set when the time came, and returned to her friends, pleased at being so sought out.

As she was about to turn a corner, she was surprised to overhear the name "Bennet" from the other side of a wall, and unthinkingly stopped where she was and began to listen.

"...an old family, yes, and their money does not come from trade, but who cares about that when there is precious little of it! Only two thousand pounds per annum, according to old Ratty Lovelace, and the estate goes to someone outside the family. The girl's worthless."

Kitty could not help but recognize that her own father's estate fit that description, and she drew the obvious conclusion. She cautiously peered around the corner, seeing Mr Huntingdon, Mr Thornhill, and their three friends engrossed in conversation.

"So little?" she heard Mr Huntingdon say. "Those shiny little gems of hers had given me hope, but it seems they are borrowed. What of the tall mopish one - the Darcy girl? Her family is..." She lost the last few words in the noise of the crowd. To avoid the appearance of eavesdropping, she stooped to adjust her slipper, ears straining to catch their words.

"...thirty thousand all to herself," another stranger was saying, "a fine prize, enough to make it worth wedding such a prissy, simpering little sheep and be linked to that stormcloud of a brother; but the family are likely on their guard. She lives at the estate..."

Kitty listened in horror as Mr Thornhill concluded, "I am keeping an eye on the Darcy wench, but you're right, there isn't much hope of bagging her; I shall have to look for better game in the meantime."

Kitty all but ran to where Elizabeth stood, talking with her aunt Gardiner. "Lizzy! I just heard the most dreadful thing!" Both ladies turned to face her. "Those men Georgiana and I were dancing with, the ones who asked to be introduced - they are brazen fortune hunters! They are talking about Georgiana's fortune, being so disrespectful to her, plotting and calling her a prize!"

Elizabeth seemed undisturbed. "I know, dear. Georgiana knows." Kitty stared in astonishment. "With such a large fortune, Georgiana must sometimes encounter men of this kind. She was aware of the reason for their interest."

"Oh! I did not see it at all, until I heard them talking; but perhaps I should have realized, from their questions..." She shook her head. "They were so crude! I hate to hear them talking about Georgiana that way!"

"It is unpleasant, no doubt; but Georgiana need have nothing more to do with them, or you either," her sister assured her.

"Yes, that's true."

Mrs Gardiner smiled at Kitty. "Poor girl! These schemes are part of every large assembly; but no doubt this is the first time you have encountered it in so direct a form."

"Yes, it is. It's very shocking."

"I suppose the young men must be in want of money, and unable to marry without it. It is not uncommon. A younger son may be raised as a gentleman, but not provided with the fortune to maintain a gentleman's life, as everything is left to his eldest brother. He must be aware that he can only marry if his wife can make up the lack. It is not necessarily mercenary; sometimes it is merely practical."

"Yes," Kitty agreed reluctantly, "but even such gentlemen must want a wife they love, don't they? _These_ men talked as though Georgiana were nothing at all, only a means to an income."

"If they spoke disrespectfully of her, that is another matter," Elizabeth agreed. "The need to consider fortune in a prospective wife does _not_ excuse discourtesy - much less true insolence and derision, which I think may be closer to what you overheard. But you should allow that they are two separate and distinct things." Kitty reluctantly accepted this. "And there are as many ladies who are fortune-hunters as men, and as varied in the decency of their motives."

"Really?" A memory of her own mother, exulting over Jane's engagement to a man with five thousand pounds a year, drifted through her mind.

"Likely it is even more common, for it is less likely for a daughter to inherit a fortune than a son, and a lady must often receive sustenance from a husband or from nowhere. Such a lady must surely want a husband she can love, or at least respect; but she is not to be blamed for knowing it would be imprudent to marry a poor man, however agreeable he may be."

Kitty was much struck by this straightforward statement. "I suppose that is true, but...it seems so callous and unromantic."

"It can be; indeed, there are fortune-hunters who regard a wife as nothing beyond her dowry, and God protect us all from such men. Then again, it can be as simple as taking into account that a married couple must have something to live on. Dear Charlotte, remember, married only so that she would have a home of her own."

"Oh, yes, but Charlotte is...well, she is nothing like these horrid gentlemen."

"Not all young men are equally principled," her aunt said. "Some have no regard for women to begin with, rich or poor. You have not encountered the worst of them, I am happy to say, but it is unfortunately true."

This gloomy observation was interrupted by Mr Sutcliffe approaching and asking her for the next two dances.

"I am engaged for the next one," Kitty told him, a little distracted, "but still free for the one following."

"Oh! Very well, the next but one, then, if you would do me the honour."

"Yes. Thank you," she remembered to add, and he smiled as he bowed and left the ladies to themselves. Kitty exclaimed as she saw Georgiana across the room, deftly moving away to avoid being accosted by Mr Thornhill, then doing the same to a second gentleman. "Georgiana is avoiding everyone. Is she so distressed by what she's noticed, that she does not mean to dance again?"

"I think not, Kitty," Elizabeth told her. "She is merely being selective." Kitty was pleased to observe her finally accept an invitation, and pointed it out with some relief.

"You need not be quite so protective of your friend, Kitty," her aunt laughed. "She is a timid girl, but she knows not to let herself be imposed on."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." A thought came to her that she could not reveal to her aunt: that the true reason she found these men and their schemes so odious was that they reminded her of Mr Wickham, and his attempt to deceive Georgiana. In her mind, Mr Wickham became rather confused with the young men at the dance, plotting together to make their fortune by marriage; and Georgiana became muddled with Lydia. She closed her eyes a moment and forced all such thoughts away, until she could sort them out privately.

As a set began to form, she recalled that she had promised the dance to a gentleman - what was his name? Mr Cooper? No, Carter! - and hurried off to fulfill her obligation. Mr Carter seemed to be an amiable dunce, but the dance was a favourite of Kitty's, and she threw herself into the activity with great enjoyment. She exchanged a smile with Georgiana across the set, seeing that her partner was Mr Ogden, of whom she so far knew no evil, and observed the Darcys once again standing up together. "Oh, my sister is dancing again!" she observed to her partner, just to keep some conversation in play. He inquired which was her sister, had Elizabeth pointed out to him, and obligingly commented on her handsomeness and dancing ability before falling silent once more, leaving Kitty to happily concentrate on performing her steps to perfection.

She had just time to catch her breath before Mr Sutcliffe came to claim her for the next dance. She realized, with a pang of sympathy for Mr Sutcliffe, that he had once again engaged her for the last dance before supper was served, and wished for his sake that he paid closer attention to the ball's agenda.


	19. Revisions

_"It makes me most uncomfortable to see  
>An English spinster of the middle class<br>Describe the amorous effects of 'brass,'  
>Reveal so frankly and with such sobriety<br>The economic basis of society."  
>W. H. Auden<em>

* * *

><p>Mr Sutcliffe appeared to be in excellent spirits, and during the dance his conversation was amusing, and his dancing even livelier than usual. Kitty found herself laughing, and comparing him quite favourably to the other partners she had had so far that evening. He asked at length how she had been enjoying the ball.<p>

"Oh, I'm enjoying it very well; although some of the gentlemen were disagreeable."

"Were they, indeed? I hope they were not rude to you!"

"No - well, just a little - but they were unpleasant to Georgiana. Not to her face, but...I heard them talking about her."

"I am sorry to hear it. Knowing your friend, I'm sure it was uncalled for."

Kitty smiled at his implied praise of Georgiana, storing the detail among her other observations of partiality. "Of course; but some of the young men were talking about her fortune, and discussing her as if she were no more than a...a horse to be bought." He nodded gravely. "Probably I should not have mentioned it," she added belatedly.

"It is a vulgar matter, I agree; however, the vulgarity is not of your making, but theirs. I will not pretend to be unaware that such attitudes exist; but I regret you were exposed to them. I hope it does not affect your enjoyment of the ball."

"No, certainly not! _I_ will not be troubled with them again, at least. Those men will not ask me to dance a second time, now that they have been informed, as I overheard them say, that I have no fortune to speak of."

He laughed. "That must be a great relief to you."

"Yes," she agreed, adopting his playful tone. "My lack of fortune is a good luck charm that protects me from such evil company. And now, if anyone asks me to dance the rest of the evening, I'll know it is only because he likes to dance."

He gave her an odd smile. "Clearly, that can be the only possible inducement." She was surprised by his wry tone, but as he offered no explanation, she overlooked it, instead asking him about his meeting of school friends, resulting in some entertaining stories about Mr Ogden. When the dance ended, and the couples began moving toward the dining room, he offered his arm to lead her to the table.

During supper, Mr Sutcliffe questioned Kitty minutely about her time in London, the things she had seen and done in the city, and her thoughts on all of them. As before, Kitty found that with Mr Sutcliffe, she could be free to discuss what she pleased, without apologizing for her lack of information nor feeling foolish for having thoughts or enthusiasms which were not in keeping with current fashion. She was therefore happy to provide her assessment of London, its sights of interest, and its distinctive features, however uninformed they undoubtedly were; and to freely critique the concerts and theatre productions she had seen, and to share the feelings which the Tower of London had inspired, including her remarks upon the personal qualities and state decisions of King Henry VIII. Mr Sutcliffe was equally at ease, answering her ideas with his, providing information where it was wanting without giving offense or implying superiority, and seeming to take great enjoyment in hearing her views and comparing them with his own. The meal was ended and the table nearly deserted before they noticed that supper was over and dancing was about to recommence.

As Kitty had predicted, the gentlemen who were so well informed on everyone's monetary prospects did not ask her to dance again. They did, however, seek out Georgiana, who eluded them or made excuses when she could, but if invited by one of them to dance, politely accepted. As The Ship's Cook was called for, and Mr Huntingdon escorted Georgiana to the dance floor, Kitty watched them with an expression of malevolence which both her uncle and Mr Sutcliffe found extremely diverting. "My dear, you will frighten everyone, not just the young scoundrel your looks are aimed at," Mr Gardiner laughed.

"Well, I don't like Georgiana having to dance with him," she declared.

Mr Sutcliffe held out his hand with a smile. "Then perhaps we should join them, the better to keep watch over his actions." She accepted, and they moved to the bottom of the set. She did not, in fact, watch over Georgiana and her unworthy partner, for Mr Sutcliffe kept her attention, making her laugh with an invented, and highly unlikely, explanation of the symbolism of each movement in the dance.

Georgiana seemed undisturbed by the experience of dancing with the disrespectful Mr Huntingdon, listening to his chatter calmly, and even smiling at him as he took his leave after returning her to her place. Kitty joined her as soon as he had removed himself, took her friend's hand and patted it soothingly. "Poor Georgiana! I wish there was a polite way to refuse to dance with someone!"

"Don't be concerned for _me_, Kitty dear! It is really no different from dancing with any other partner, and he is amusing."

Kitty blinked in surprise. "He is?" She turned to look over at Mr Huntingdon, who was standing with his friends, looking over at Georgiana with a satisfied expression. "But look at him! Now he thinks he has your regard!"

"Then he is mistaken. I find him amusing, and an adequate dance partner. If he assumes more than that, it is not _my_ fault."

"But if you knew how disrespectful he has been..."

"I do know, or can assume."

"Then how can you say he is amusing, and be happy to accept his company?"

"He takes the trouble to be amusing. Perhaps his reasons for doing so are not entirely honourable, but as long as I am not fooled regarding his intentions, he can do me no harm. I can let him amuse me, and then dismiss him from my thoughts." Kitty was astonished at meek Georgiana's imperious tone. "Is that not only fair? He means to use me, but I shall use _him_ instead!"

Kitty laughed at this. "More than fair! But I have never heard you speak like this, not about anyone! So bold and defiant!"

"I suppose I am a little angry. As I told you," she lowered her voice, "someone tried to impose on me in this way before, and I have no patience for anyone else who attempts it. I am determined not to let them inconvenience me, not even to the extent of letting them make me uncomfortable."

"Well said, Georgiana!" Kitty rather confused Mr Huntingdon by looking his way again, but laughing rather than glaring. At that moment Mr Thornhill left the little cluster of men and approached. "Oh, here comes another of them! Do you mean to be amused by him as well?"

"I am determined to be," Georgiana said, looking a little fearful, as she usually was in unfamiliar company, but her voice confident. Kitty watched Mr Thornhill request a dance, and Georgiana accept, with a deeply complacent smile that disconcerted the gentleman more than her previous angry stares had ever done.

She stood watching the dancers and musing to herself, when Elizabeth appeared beside her. "You seem less concerned about Georgiana."

"I am. She manages very well, I think."

Elizabeth smiled. "I think so, too. She is stronger than she appears to be, I have gradually learned."

"Where is Mr Darcy?"

She nodded toward the dancers. "He has invited Mrs Gardiner to dance."

"Oh, yes, I see them. So he finally agreed to dance with someone other than you?" she teased. "And even then, not a stranger, but someone he already knew well."

She nodded, smiling affectionately at the couple. "He is still uncomfortable dancing - or even conversing - except with someone familiar, although he has made great progress in this area. I think he is almost as shy as Georgiana, except that it is expressed differently."

"Mr Darcy, shy?" Kitty repeated in astonishment.

"Yes, in his way. His situation requires him to be in the world and converse with a variety of people, and he fulfills those duties; but he has retained a very great degree of reserve, which he only recently began to overcome."

"After he became engaged to you," Kitty guessed.

Elizabeth blushed. "Perhaps it was about that time."

"Well, that is another surprise."

"Another?"

"Yes, in addition to learning that Georgiana is far braver, in _her_ own way, than I had thought."

"People are not always what they at first seem," Elizabeth said thoughtfully.

The Boulanger was called, the final dance of the evening, and Elizabeth was quickly engaged to dance by one of her uncle's friends, and Kitty by the uninteresting Mr Carter. The nature of the dance allowed her to dance at intervals with everyone in the circle, and exchange farewells. Mr Gardiner, during his turn, informed her that the carriage had already been called for, so that they could proceed to the door as soon as the dance ended.

Changing partners again, she found herself taking the hand of Mr Sutcliffe. "Miss Bennet! I hope you have had an enjoyable evening."

"Quite enjoyable, thank you."

"It has been pleasant to see you again. I hope we may meet at least once more before I have to return to Derbyshire."

"I hope so," she said politely, but he seemed to intend more by the remark than mere pleasantry.

"I may visit my friend Mr Darcy before I leave the city."

Kitty smiled at this, wondering if Mr Darcy's sister were the true object of such a visit.

"And Mr Gardiner has invited me to call. I understand you are staying at his home while in London?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Then I hope to have the pleasure of speaking with you again very soon."

The dance progressed, and she tolerated Mr Huntingdon's arrival at her place in the circle with a smile of amused disdain, before moving on and giving the courteous Mr Ogden a genuine smile and a cordial farewell.

The instant the dance ended, Mr Gardiner gestured to his wife and niece to follow him, hurrying to the door in hope of leaving ahead of the crowd. Kitty waved a quick goodbye to Elizabeth and Georgiana as they passed, and was hastily handed her shawl by her uncle and escorted outside. The Gardiners did manage to reach their carriage and drive off before the main wave of departing guests had reached the door, and Mr Gardiner expressed his satisfaction at achieving a favourite, if small, accomplishment. Mrs Gardiner yawned and exclaimed over how tired she was, and having left the stimulating atmosphere of the ballroom, Kitty found that she was quite exhausted. On arriving at the Gardiners' she stumbled out of the carriage and went directly upstairs, first remembering to thank her aunt and uncle for the evening, wearily removed her dress and climbed into bed, asleep the moment her head was on her pillow.

When she came downstairs the next morning, Mr Gardiner had left for his office, the older children were at school, and Elizabeth was already at the house, sitting with Mrs Gardiner in the breakfast room. She joined them, smiling at her aunt's jovial questions about whether Kitty's feet hurt from all the dancing she had done the night before. She made further inquiries about Kitty's enjoyment of the ball, and whether any of the young men had met with her particular approval.

"No, none in particular," she answered indifferently.

"What about Mr Darcy's friend, the young clergyman who sat with you at supper?" Mrs Gardiner asked casually

"Mr Sutcliffe? Yes, he is always very pleasant, and I like talking to him. I did meet some rather rude gentlemen, though, as you know."

"Yes, those men. As we said, Georgiana was not distressed by it."

"No, she took quite a...philosophical attitude to their comments. I"m going to put them out of my mind."

"I think that's very sensible," Mrs Gardiner agreed.

Kitty nodded, but seemed distracted by other thoughts. "I had a letter from Lydia. She was asking me to come and visit her. She was talking about all the balls we would go to, all the happy times we'd have together, just like at home."

Mrs Gardiner and Elizabeth exchanged glances. "You know that we both think that is unwise, dear; and your father would never stand for it."

"I know." She drank her tea in silence, while the other ladies waited, puzzled by her complaisance. "You both went to stay with her last summer," she added, not as though arguing the point, but as if trying to work out a confusing question.

"Kitty, that was entirely different," Elizabeth protested. "We went to nurse her when she was ill."

"Yes, I understand." She frowned down at the table a moment. "Lizzy," she suddenly burst out, "is Lydia really all right?"

"What do you mean? You saw that she was well again before we left."

"Yes, I know she is in good health, but is she...quite safe, where she is?"

"Kitty, do explain what it is you are concerned about!"

"I hardly know! I have heard some things which make me worry."

One of the children took that moment to injure himself, and Mrs Gardiner hurried upstairs at the sound of his wails, promising to return in a moment. Elizabeth took the opportunity to question Kitty more searchingly. "What has brought this on, dear? Did Lydia say something in her letter?"

"No, she sounded very cheerful, just as always. But Georgiana..." Kitty met her sister's eyes. "She said you already know, so I am not breaking my promise."

Elizabeth nodded, thinking she understood the situation. "She told you about herself and Mr Wickham?"

"Yes. It was just the same with Lydia as with Georgiana, except...except that he did not succeed in running away with Georgiana. But it _must_ have been different, mustn't it, Lizzy? Georgiana says he was only trying to get her money; she was very sure of it. But Lydia had next to no money, so he must have truly loved her. Don't you think so?"

Elizabeth seemed to reflect. "I will answer you as well as I can; but first I should say, your aunt does not know about Georgiana's situation. She knows all about Mr Wickham and Lydia, in some ways better than I do, for she was there when they married; but what Georgiana told us was in confidence."

"I know. I won't mention it in front of her. But it is terrible to think of Mr Wickham being like one of those men at the ball, scheming to marry a girl they don't care for in order to get her money. Mr Wickham was so pleasant to everyone; he didn't seem like one of them - but then," she mused, half to herself, "I never heard him speak candidly to other gentlemen, as they did at the ball."

"I am afraid he deceived us all. He has a talent for making himself liked."

"And Georgiana seemed so certain. She said it was made very clear that his only object was her fortune."

"I believe that to be true." As Kitty began to speak again, she added, "Wait, your aunt is coming. Let us give you a full account of Lydia's elopement, and you may decide for yourself."

Mrs Gardiner returned to the breakfast room, laughingly explaining the source of the nursery trouble, then stopped as she noticed her nieces' solemn expressions. Elizabeth explained, "Kitty wants to understand Lydia's circumstances, and I told her we would acquaint her with all we know."

"I see," she said, sitting down slowly.

"Mr Wickham must have loved Lydia, surely? Why else would he run off to marry her? I know you think the elopement was wrong, and perhaps…" Kitty paused, torn between memories of Lydia's gleeful letters, confiding the exciting news that she and her Wickham were secretly running off to be married; and of the grim faces of her family as they desperately sought her. At one time, she had taken Lydia's side entirely, but now, somehow she could not help but see things from a wider perspective. "Perhaps it was," she allowed. "I know it worried the family terribly at the time. But if they wanted so much to marry that they could not wait to return home, that shows he thought a great deal of her, doesn't it?" When no answer came immediately, she said, "Please, tell me the truth. Almost all I know is what Lydia told me in her letters; and then, that they were found, and that they married and went to live in Newcastle. I hear things, I know that there is some reason to worry, but nobody has made it clear to me."

Elizabeth took a deep breath. "I suppose Lydia's letters painted a happy picture of their, er, courtship."

"She wrote often, after she went with the Forsters to Brighton, and described the way she flirted with Mr Wickham, and how taken he seemed to be with her. She talked about other officers too, but most particularly about Mr Wickham. Then one day, she wrote to say they were in love, and that they were running off to Scotland to marry. She made me promise not to tell anyone, so she could surprise the family when she returned, already married."

Mrs Gardiner shook her head. "Surely, even then, you should have realized that it was wrong to keep such information from your parents!"

"I suppose so. Yes, I see _now_ that it was; but when Lydia described it to me, it sounded quite romantic, and even fun. Lydia had a way of convincing me of things. And…I was pleased that she confided in me. I was the only one in the family she shared her secret with. Nobody else ever talked to me about anything important."

This plaintive remark gave Elizabeth pause. "I understand; and I take my share of the blame for leaving you out of our discussions at times. It was not unkindly meant; it was only that…well, Lydia seemed to have an exclusive claim on you, which none of us thought to challenge." Kitty smiled ruefully, recognizing the truth of this. "But her letters, you say, described a romantic escape for the purpose of reaching Scotland and marrying?"

"Yes, that is what Lydia told me."

"Then I am afraid I must suggest that she was mistaken. Not lying, or so I believe; but misled by Mr Wickham, or simply presuming things he never promised her."

"Misled, how?"

"She believed they were running away with the purpose of secretly marrying. When they were found, and Mr Wickham confronted, it appeared that he had no intention of proceeding to Scotland, or of marrying Lydia."

"But…then why did he run off with her?"

Elizabeth and her aunt once again exchanged looks. "Let us start at the beginning," Mrs Gardiner said, "taking in all we now know. At the time Lydia ran away, it seems Mr Wickham intended to leave the area immediately in any case, alone or in company."

"Why?"

Elizabeth replied. "He was rather deeply in debt. There were gambling debts, in addition to tradesmen's bills and unpaid loans from fellow officers. He meant to leave without notice, and escape these demands."

"But he had money enough - didn't he? How was he in such debt if the other officers were not?"

"He had the same small salary as any of the officers who lacked other sources of money; but unlike the other officers, it was combined with a tendency to live beyond his means and a taste for gambling. Apparently it had placed him in a similar situation in the past."

"So you see, my dear," Mrs Gardiner went on, "he was in no position to marry, not unless he could marry a woman of some wealth."

"Mary King," Kitty murmured, half to herself.

"Yes, I suppose Mary King was an attempt to raise his fortunes, but for whatever reason, her family intervened and the engagement was broken off. He could not support himself at that point, much less a wife. He left secretly, in hopes of finding a way to obtain more money before his creditors found him out."

"But he took Lydia with him!"

Elizabeth looked at her aunt again. "We think - we are almost certain - that he meant to leave on his own, but was offered the chance to take a companion with him, and accepted it, without much concern for the consequences. Lydia was accustomed to flirting with all the officers, but Wickham was a particular favourite. He may have asked her to come along, allowing her to assume it was an elopement with the goal of marriage. Considering Lydia's lack of restraint at this time, _she_ may even have asked _him_ to take her along. I am sorry to suggest such a thing, but Lydia had become used to complete freedom in her relations with the officers, and her letter to Mrs Forster shows how lightly she regarded such an action. Mr Wickham, according to some who know him well, was not a man to choose solitude when a female companion was available.  
>"However it came about, they did not go to Scotland, but stopped in London."<p>

"But they might have meant to go on to Scotland eventually, and had to stop for a time for some reason."

"So we had hoped at first. From later information, we understand that Mr Wickham had arranged to stay in London from the beginning. He had an acquaintance arrange for lodgings there."

"When your uncle found them," Mrs Gardiner went on, "Mr Wickham acknowledged that he had no plans to leave the city."

"Then when _would_ they have been married?" Kitty asked.

"Kitty!" Her aunt shook her head in disbelief. "Do you still not understand? He had no intention of marrying Lydia - ever. She had no fortune, no connections which might help him materially. He took her with him as a mistress, because she was convenient and willing; and given his lack of means, she was to hold even _that_ position for only a brief period of time."

This direct statement finally sank in. "He truly meant to leave her behind?"

"Yes, precisely. I dislike having to mention this, but information which came out after their elopement revealed that he had been notoriously unprincipled where women are concerned, during his time with the militia and in the years before. He had left other...companions behind, and would not scruple to do the same to Lydia, it may be safely assumed. In fact, when he was first found and confronted, he flatly rejected any demand that he make their union lawful. He stated, quite coldly, that any consequences which fell upon Lydia were the result of her own free choice to run off with him, and no concern of his. He actually admitted he hoped for a better alliance in the future, one which involved more money. Marrying Lydia had never been his intention."

Kitty finally took in the full meaning of this. "But then, what would have happened to Lydia?"

Once more, Elizabeth and her aunt exchanged a look. "Kitty," Elizabeth said slowly, "do you remember a young lady who lived near the Pemberley estate, named Margaret Chamberlain?"


	20. Female Conversation

_"Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story."_  
><em>Persuasion<em>

* * *

><p>"Margaret Chamberlain?" Kitty nodded. "She was the lady who painted pictures, the one with a little girl."<p>

"Yes, that's right. I told you her history, I think?"

Kitty stared at her sister, aghast. "But Lydia was not..." She stopped, uncertain.

"She left her family and friends behind, Kitty, and placed herself completely in the power of one man," Mrs Gardiner told her. "She had no idea how dangerous such an action could be."

"She trusted Mr Wickham," Kitty protested weakly. "He loved her! She was..._sure_ he loved her."

Elizabeth said gently, "Like Miss Chamberlain, she trusted a man she loved to do the honourable thing; but once isolated from anyone she knew, her reputation in his hands, she was in no position to insist he fulfill her expectations."

Mrs Gardiner sighed sharply. "At least Lydia was not frightened. By the time they were found, Lydia had been living with Mr Wickham for some days, but had not yet become apprehensive about his ultimate intentions. That may have been as much foolishness as trust on her part, in all honesty; but whether she realized it or not, she had much to fear. What if they had not been found out, and Mr Wickham had finally left her behind as planned? Her reputation would have been ruined, without even a hasty wedding to give a semblance of respectability. It is not at all certain we could have hidden the truth. Most likely she could never have married. And that is under the most fortunate of circumstances."

Kitty looked from Mrs Gardiner to her sister inquiringly, clearly wondering what circumstances could be still worse.

"Kitty," Elizabeth said, with some exasperation, "why do you think I brought up Margaret Chamberlain? You seem to flinch from the subject, but it was always the family's worst anxiety on her behalf.  
>"To be blunt, when a couple have been living together in this manner, one might say as husband and wife, it is inevitable..." She broke off, flushing, before going on, "...it is usual for a child to result. If a woman is left in this condition and abandoned, little more can be done for her, other than to limit her contact with society, and thereby reduce the public censure she must endure. That is what happened to poor Miss Chamberlain - and s<em>he<em> is not the most unfortunate of such women, although she lives in poverty and isolation, for there are still worse degradations for women in her circumstances. It is very likely what would have become of Lydia, had others not intervened."  
>She allowed Kitty to take in this possibility before continuing. "I believe Father would have helped her as best he could, but nothing would make her respectable again, or acceptable to decent society; and such help would be given at great cost, for the more openly our family helped and welcomed her, the more her disgrace would affect the rest of us."<p>

Mrs Gardiner added, "And that is in addition to the suffering inflicted on an innocent child, who would carry a stigma all its life."

Kitty had listened, wide eyed, in silence for some time. She knew that such things happened, and in an imprecise way understood why they happened. She had grasped Miss Chamberlain's situation immediately. There had even been a woman or two in the neighbourhood of Longbourn, who had been sent away to stay with relations at some remote place in the country, and there was an unspoken understanding of the reason. But Elizabeth was right: somehow, Kitty had evaded such thoughts where it related to Lydia. She felt a little ridiculous, for naturally such a danger would have been foremost in the minds of her family, on learning that Lydia had run off with a man. She could hardly account for her own disregard of the single most obvious peril of Lydia's situation.

At last she said, "I had not really thought of all this. I had not considered what might happen. Lydia trusted Mr Wickham so completely, and he seemed like such a good man..." She shook her head in distress. "But at least Mr Wickham was willing to be persuaded to marry her at last."

"He was not persuaded, or not precisely," Elizabeth corrected. "He was too much opposed to the idea to accept any argument. In the end, he had to be bribed."

Kitty stared at her. "Yes," her aunt continued, "when all arguments failed, he had to be offered money before he would agree to marriage. He still resisted the idea, but the burden of his debts and his lack of resources gave him little choice. Even so, the amount had to be increased considerably before he would consent."

Kitty sat in silence for a minute or two. "So Lydia was married for money. Even with no fortune, she married a fortune-hunter after all." The other ladies saw the irony of this, but let her absorb it without comment. "Does Lydia know about any of this?"

"No, she does not," Mrs Gardiner said. "We felt there could be no advantage to Lydia being aware of these things. If she _must_ be married to such a man, let her think as well of him as she can, for as long as she is able."

"Then that is why..." Kitty began, then coloured and looked apologetically at Elizabeth. "I'm sorry, Lizzy; I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but last summer, I overheard you talking to Mr Darcy. You said Mr Wickham was indifferent to her, and she was beginning to become aware of it."

"Oh! Yes, I remember. After hearing our account of events leading to their marriage, I'm sure you understand that there was little affection on his side, and no real wish to marry; and that he accepted Lydia for no other reason than his need for money. Add to these difficulties the fact that neither of them seem able to live within their income, and characters very much unsuited to the compromises and mutual goodwill required in the married state, and you can see that her chance of happiness was never great."

"And that is why you are concerned for her situation," Kitty concluded, much subdued.

"It is," Elizabeth agreed. "Lydia is not a sensible girl, but she is young and there was some chance she might have bettered herself, and made a good wife to a respectable gentleman. But all that summer, she was carried away entirely by romantic fantasies, and by too much opportunity to flirt and romp with a continuous supply of officers. Then she was sent off to the seaside, as companion to a like-minded young woman, for the sole purpose of more amusement with more red-coated young men. There was nothing to temper her preoccupation with playing coquette, nothing to check her or even sometimes offer her a different occupation. Under such circumstances, and to such a mind as Lydia's, the chance to elope must have seemed like a reasonable and happy conclusion to her time at Brighton."

"She never came to think differently, that I can see," Mrs Gardiner added.

"No," Elizabeth agreed. "She returned to Longbourn as if in triumph, exulting at being the first married of her sisters, and unable to grasp that there was anything amiss in what she had done, nor anything uncertain in her prospects of happiness. It was disturbing to realize how oblivious she had become to anything outside her own narrow domain, and how little chance there now was of her expanding it. Her future looked so bleak to me then, for she had nothing, neither ideas nor capabilities, which could make her new life easier, or prepare her for the time when she came to realize how far her sentimental notions had deceived her."

Kitty found tears forming in her eyes. "You have answered my question."

Elizabeth took her hand. "I am sorry if we were too frank, Kitty; but I thought you were old enough to know, and wise enough to benefit from Lydia's example."

"Is there nothing that can be done for her?"

"A great deal has already been done for her!" her aunt objected with some spirit.

"I know, but to think of her...I could hardly stand to see Georgiana dancing with such a man, and our sister is living with one, tied to him forever!" Her tears finally overflowed. "It could as easily have happened to me, if I had been invited to Brighton - except that the officers did not care for me as they did for Lydia - for I thought just as Lydia did, at that time." Once again, she was startled at the contrast between her remembered self of two years ago, and herself at present.

Mrs Gardiner relented somewhat. "We both see how far you have come since then, dear; that is why we explained all this to you. I do respect your feelings for your poor sister. Lydia must bear the consequences of her actions, but perhaps not the harshest of them. I'm sure none of us would let the worst happen without coming to her aid."

"We did, in fact, go to her when she was ill," Elizabeth went on. "I agree with Father's decision to forbid visits otherwise, however. The harsh truth is, she can harm us far more than we can assist her. She draws visitors in to her frivolous way of living, yet is proof against any influence from them." Kitty recalled how easy it had been to fall back into her former relations with Lydia during their stay at Newcastle, and met Elizabeth's eyes with a conscious look, receiving a smile of understanding in return. "She threatens our respectability, yet can not gain from ours. And Mr Wickham, aside from the great unpleasantness of being in his society with the knowledge of his past actions, will certainly not improve his conduct if he believes Lydia's family will atone for his lack of economy and redress his every fault."

"I am afraid your sister is right," Mrs Gardiner said, patting Kitty's shoulder kindly. "Write to Lydia as often as she might like, be kind to her, give her what advice you think will ease her burden and help her to make a more comfortable life for herself - but refuse her invitations. We shall do the same."

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, write by all means. Be assured, Kitty, that she will not find herself friendless if her situation worsens, and will not be allowed to become completely indigent. However, I urge you not to mention that fact in your letters, nor even hint at it. They are both too extravagant, and too prone to regard other people's money as their own, and such a suggestion will not be beneficial."

"I understand."

Mr Darcy was shown into the room at this moment, and bid them all good morning, but stopped at the sight of their countenance, and Kitty's red eyes. "Is all well?"

"Yes, quite well," Elizabeth said lightly. "We were just having a rather serious discussion."

"I see. I came to bring you home, if Mrs Gardiner does not object. The painter has arrived."

"Oh! I had lost track of time. Yes, I must go at once."

"Painter?" Mrs Gardiner repeated.

"Elizabeth is having her portrait done," Mr Darcy explained. "I hope to include it in the gallery at Pemberley, if the result meets with our approval." He laughed as Elizabeth struck a dramatic classical pose.

"Would you like to come by, Aunt, and critique his work?"

"No, thank you, I have plans for today; but no doubt Kitty would like to go with you, and visit with you and Georgiana."

"Yes, do come, Kitty," Elizabeth said with a smile. "Georgiana has no engagements that I know of."

"I will, thank you," she replied, rising and kissing her aunt good bye. "Thank you, Aunt Gardiner," she said quietly, before following the Darcys to the door. The conversation between the Darcys, during the short carriage ride, dealt with mundane household matters, yet was animated and full of humour. Mr Darcy politely included Kitty in the discussion where he could, but it was clear that only Elizabeth held his interest. Kitty found herself admiring her sister's humour and liveliness of expression, beyond what she ever had done when they were girls at home, and thinking what an unusual thing it must be for a man to choose a wife for her cleverness and wit.

Kitty followed Elizabeth into the house, where she was greeted by the housekeeper with a few whispered words about the waiting artist, who had been provided with refreshment in the small drawing room, but was showing signs of impatience. Elizabeth nodded. "Thank you for looking after him, Mrs Reynolds. My sister has come to call on Miss Darcy. Excuse me, Kitty." She hurried away. "Mr Lawrence," she could be heard exclaiming, "I am so sorry to have kept you waiting! It is inexcusable!"

"Miss Darcy is in the library, Miss," the housekeeper told her, inviting her to follow. Georgiana was sitting by the window, reading, but jumped up to kiss her friend hello.

"It is not so cold today as it has been," she said. "Shall we take a short walk?" Kitty agreed, provided it was sufficiently short, for she was less sanguine about the weather than Georgiana, and they set out together. Georgiana talked easily about the ball and Elizabeth's portrait, but looked concerned after receiving only perfunctory responses from her friend. "You seem ill, Kitty, or perhaps unhappy?" Georgiana suggested at length. "Are you quite well?"

"Yes, I am perfectly fine. I'm sorry; perhaps I am a little distracted."

"Can you tell me what is troubling you?"

Kitty recalled that the subject matter had some significance to Georgiana. "I am afraid it would distress you."

"It has already distressed _you_, I can see; and it would give me great comfort to be able to share your distress." Kitty pressed her hand, moved by this warm expression of friendship. "If it is not something you prefer to keep private," Georgiana added. "I do not mean to pry."

"It is not that; but it concerns Mr Wickham."

"I see. That will not disturb me, although at one time it might have. As ashamed as I was of my own behaviour, I am past being upset by any mention of him. I decided I would refuse to let him disturb my peace any longer, for I resented his having any power over me, even in his absence. Please tell me what troubles you. Surely he has not been in Derbyshire?"

"No, it is nothing like that." She sighed, and Georgiana took her arm encouragingly. "I have just had a private talk with Elizabeth and my aunt Gardiner. They told me, at my request, all about my sister Lydia's marriage to Mr Wickham. I was worried about Lydia, you see, and afraid she might be unhappy; and I had never heard all the details of how it came about. But...you do not know about their elopement."

"Yes, my brother told me about it. He told it most cautiously, believing my feelings to be even more delicate than you do, but I believe he included all the significant details."

"Then you were merely being polite, when you said you thought Mr Wickham may have married Lydia in good faith?"

Georgiana looked conscious, and admitted that she had not been entirely forthcoming. "At the time, I was not sure how much you knew about Mr Wickham's intentions toward your sister, and did not want to distress you; but I was aware of the circumstances, or for the most part."

"Did it upset you to hear?"

"Not for my own sake. It strengthened my conviction that Mr Wickham had misused me, that he was not the man I once thought him."

"No indeed, nor the man I took him to be, either; for he has been deceitful and bad all along, without anyone knowing it. Even Lizzy was taken in by him, for she thought very highly of him when he first came to Meryton."

"Yes, he is clever at concealing his true character. But although I was not troubled for my own sake, I _was_ dismayed that Elizabeth's sister should have been made his victim. Poor girl - it could so easily have been myself! By the time I learned of the elopement, she and my brother were engaged, and I had already begun to think of Elizabeth as my sister; and it was shocking to think that _she_ must endure the grief that my brother was only just spared."

"You felt it more than I did," Kitty admitted. "At the time, although it now seems ridiculous to say so, I thought of it as little more than an unconventional wedding."

"I understand. You would not have immediately thought the worst of your sister, and did not yet understand Mr Wickham's true character."

Kitty hesitated to accept credit for more elevated feelings than she could rightly claim. "In all honesty, I believe I was merely thoughtless. Lydia had such trust in Mr Wickham, and wrote to me with such happy confidence in her impending marriage, that I accepted without reservation that all would be well, in spite of the great alarm her disappearance caused. At the time, I accepted Lydia's way of thinking without much reflection. I can hardly believe what my state of mind was then! But with time, I came to doubt my initial impressions, and now that I have heard everything..." She shook her head helplessly, tears filling her eyes.

Georgiana led her to a bench in a little piece of parkland, and urged her to sit down. In a moment, Kitty collected herself, and dried her tears. "There is not much more to say. He is a despicable man, and my youngest sister is tied to him for life. Worse, he has no real regard for her. He did not even wish to marry her, but had to be paid to go through with the wedding!"

"My poor Kitty! It must be painful to come to this realization at last. If only someone could have interrupted her flight, the way my brother did mine."

"She was away from home, staying with a friend in Brighton, when it happened; and I think nobody suspected their plans beforehand." As she recalled, this was partly because Lydia's affections moved so regularly from one officer to another, that no one could have noticed a decided preference for Mr Wickham. "But it is too late to regret all that now. I shall probably not visit Lydia again, but I can write to her; and Elizabeth says we will help her if there is genuine trouble. Beyond that..." She looked over at Georgiana. "I have been very inconsiderate, I think. I should not be talking on and on about this."

"I told you, it does not upset me. It is the dead past to me. You can feel free to talk to me about this, for of course it makes you anxious."

"Thank you, Georgiana. It has helped to relate all this to you. It seems to make it more orderly in my mind." She did feel a great lightness of spirit in having finally dealt with all the confusing and worrying details relating to Lydia's marriage, and feeling that she at last understood all. She saw, too, that Georgiana truly was undisturbed by the conversation. She marveled again at how such a meek and diffident young lady could at the same time have such inner determination and strength.  
>"It is frightening to think how completely we can be deceived about a man's true nature. We might easily be married before we realize the character of the person we are bound to for life!"<p>

"Frightening, yes; but I think there are ways to ensure that does not happen. A man's character cannot be hidden from everyone, and perhaps careful inquiry should be made before any engagement takes place."

Kitty nodded, then smiled. "You are right, _someone_ will always know the truth. Remember, Elizabeth was convinced of your brother's worth when the Pemberley housekeeper gave him a good reference."

Georgiana laughed at that. "Yes, so she told me. It is quite sound, for Mrs Reynolds knew him since he was a little boy."

"We must speak to the housekeeper of any man we might become attached to," Kitty concluded, and her friend agreed that it was an excellent plan.

Georgiana looked up. "It's beginning to snow again. Shall we walk back?"

They turned toward the house, hurrying a little as they grew closer, for a strong wind had come up, whirling the snow through the air as they passed. They hurried into the entrance hall, pink-cheeked and a little breathless, and set their warm wraps aside. "Will you stay for dinner?" Georgiana asked.

"If my aunt does not mind, I should like to, thank you."

"I'll have a message sent over right away." She gave instructions to a footman as they passed.

As they approached the large drawing room, voices could be heard from inside. "That is not your painter, is it?" Kitty asked. "I thought he was in another room."

"No, I think that is my brother. He must have a guest."

They were about to turn and find another place to sit, when Mr Darcy appeared at the door. "Georgiana, I thought I heard you come in. Good morning, Miss Catherine. Won't you both come in and join us? Our guest is a friend of yours as well."

They walked in to find Mr Sutcliffe seated near the fire, a cup of tea beside him and a book in his hand, which he set aside, rising to his feet as the two ladies entered. "Miss Darcy; Miss Bennet! How good to see you both again."


	21. Serious Subjects

_"A skilled teacher and a few good books can always cure ignorance."  
><em>_Vikrant Parsai_

* * *

><p>Mr Sutcliffe was greeted and his health inquired after, and he returned the courtesies. Georgiana and Kitty sat down, and when Mr Sutcliffe observed that they looked quite pink from the cold, fresh tea was called for to warm the ladies, and the discourse comfortably eased into by communal exclaiming over the wild weather and the pleasantness of returning to a warm fire.<p>

Naturally, the newly begun painting was the subject next introduced, and great curiosity expressed over the final version. "Mrs Darcy was at first reluctant to pose for a portrait, but I managed to persuade her. If it turns out as well as some of Mr Lawrence's other paintings have done, it will make a fine addition to the gallery at Pemberley." Mr Sutcliffe seemed to hide a smile, and Mr Darcy turned to him. "What do you find so amusing, Sir?"

"I beg your pardon. I could not help but think of the reaction, should certain of your relations, who have a special regard for the gallery, hear of the new painting hanging at Pemberley." When Mr Darcy showed no sign of amusement, he went on, "You did acquaint me with the details of this domestic conflict. Perhaps I should not mention it, but I thought it acceptable in this company. Forgive me if I gave offence."

"No offence is taken; but I still find the situation disturbing. My wife has chosen to laugh at it, rather than be offended, and while I admire her forbearance, I find it more difficult to forgive such insults directed at her."

"Quite understandable, although I share your admiration for anyone who can use laughter as an alternative to anger. It shows a kind of unpretentious benevolence that runs deep in her character."

"Just so," Mr Darcy replied, obviously pleased by the homage to his wife, adding with a wry smile, "She has shown herself capable of being perfectly courteous even to people whom she strongly dislikes, to the extent that they never suspect the slightest antipathy."

"Admirable, and truly ladylike. And yet she is deemed ineligible, by _one_ at least," Mr Sutcliffe said, shaking his head, "because of an arbitrary distinction of class, which is in reality no distinction at all."

"I would not define class distinctions as entirely arbitrary," Mr Darcy said, a little stiffly, "although I realize you see the matter differently, especially after hearing of your recent sermon. '_When Adam delved and Eve span_,' after all..."

"You seem to have received a wildly exaggerated report, Darcy!" Mr Sutcliffe protested. "I am no rebel leader! Recognizing our common humanity, regardless of caste, is very far from fomenting rebellion, I can assure you. As for my remark of a moment ago, I meant only to refer to the more trivial distinctions among the gentry themselves, such as was applied to Mrs Darcy's family in this case."

Kitty was far from comprehending these last remarks, but recognized what was, in her view, the pivotal matter. "But _who_ has insulted Lizzy?" she demanded, ready to become indignant if the situation should necessitate it.

Mr Sutcliffe turned to her. "I had thought you must be aware of the circumstances, Miss Bennet. If not, I apologize for introducing the subject."

"It is our aunt, Kitty; Lady Catherine. She disapproves of my brother's marrying Elizabeth." Even Georgiana's quiet murmur clearly expressed her own feelings on Lady Catherine's attitude.

"And she speaks of her disapproval so openly that no one need consider it confidential," Mr Darcy added, with a slight smile at Mr Sutcliffe.

"Oh, that?" Kitty nodded. "Yes, I was told about that when we were visiting Charlotte and Mr Collins at Hunsford."

"You do not seem terribly disturbed by her opposition," Mr Sutcliffe observed.

"No, certainly not. If she thinks poorly of LIzzy, then she is wrong, even if she _is_ a great lady!" She realized her words might have been too blunt. "I'm sorry, I do not mean to speak badly of your aunt."

"You speak no worse of her than my brother has," Georgiana said mischievously, but looking a little uncertainly at Mr Darcy as she spoke. He returned her look with one of mock censure, and she laughed.

"I cannot deny it," he said. "She has passed the boundaries of what even a respected aunt may say. Elizabeth, as always willing to forgive injuries against herself, has urged me to make peace with her; but so far, it is more than I can undertake."

"Perhaps it may come about in time," Mr Sutcliffe suggested. "Possibly even originating from her side. I have heard of less auspicious conflicts ended unexpectedly, when an intractable party was brought to reconsider."

"I hope it might end so," Mr Darcy said, although without much enthusiasm in his voice, "but as things stand now, it will not be ended by me."

Mr Sutcliffe nodded sympathetically. "Family disputes are all too common. I have been at odds with my brother, intermittently, for many years, with no end in sight, so I am familiar with such difficulties." He quickly introduced a new topic.

The conversation became more lively as Kitty was asked to recount the diversions she had enjoyed since coming to London, and more so when Mr Lawrence left for the day and Elizabeth joined them.

It was a busy morning for calls. Miss Bingley stopped at the house and spoke with everyone for perhaps twenty minutes before leaving again, saying she was on her way to visit her sister. She was, as usual, deferential to Mr and Mrs Darcy, affectionate to Georgiana, coldly polite to Mr Sutcliffe, and heedless of Kitty altogether. She took some slight interest in Mr Sutcliffe when she learned who his parents were, but her attention was diverted on discovering that he was the younger son and that his elder brother was sole heir to the moderate family fortune.

"Have you any plans to visit Hertfordshire, to see your new niece?" Elizabeth asked her.

"Perhaps when the weather is better for travelling. I am very pleased for them, of course. I understand you were there when the child was born?"

"Yes, I am happy to say. I was able to stay with Jane and help during her confinement."

"Oh, dear! Well, let us leave _that_ topic alone! But my brother tells me it is a sweet little girl, and I look forward to seeing them in the spring. Will you and Mr Darcy be visiting them once the weather is warmer?"

Elizabeth glanced at her husband. "Perhaps for a short time."

As she rose to leave, she turned back to Elizabeth. "Oh, I am told you are having your likeness taken! I am eager to see the painting, when it is finished. Who is the artist?" Mr Darcy gave the name. "Quite impressive! I thought there was a terribly long wait to have a portrait done by him."

"Yes, but I applied to him just prior to our wedding. The wait has only now come to an end."

"Indeed! You plan ahead so carefully, Mr Darcy." She bid them all goodbye and was shown to the door.

"She and Mr Bingley seem like such different people," Kitty ventured when Miss Bingley had left, "even though they are brother and sister."

"They are quite different," Mr Darcy agreed. "Bingley's parents followed the practice of raising sons in a completely different style than daughters. As a result, his outlook, even his manner, are decidedly unlike those of his sisters. I cannot say I entirely agree with their approach."

"Nor I," Elizabeth said. "Girls and boys will have differences in their upbringing, of course; but their education should be alike in the essentials."

"It is as well that we are of one mind on such a subject," Mr Darcy said lightly.

"How will Mr and Mrs Bingley raise little Alice, I wonder?" Kitty mused.

"Indulgently, I would suppose," Elizabeth said with a smile.

"I will be glad to see her again," Kitty said with a sigh. "She must have grown a great deal since I left home."

"When do you return home?" Mr Sutcliffe asked her.

"I am going back with my aunt and uncle next week, for they have not been to visit since the baby was born. Are you not to be in Hertfordshire at all 'til spring, Lizzy?"

"Likely not, but we will both go then. We will be traveling immediately afterward, and want to bid everyone goodbye first."

"Traveling where?" Kitty asked, surprised.

"We are finally making our tour of Europe, beginning in April, all being well. Mr Darcy has been planning it for some time."

"I was sent through Europe by my parents after leaving Cambridge," Mr Darcy said, "and have long wanted to repeat the experience with my wife, and benefit from her observations, likely quite different from my own."

"That's so exciting!" Kitty exclaimed. "Lizzy, I hope you will write while you are there, and tell me all about it."

"Of course."

This led to some discussion of Europe's sites of interest, with one or two digressions by Mr Darcy and Mr Sutcliffe to quarrel about international politics. When Mr Darcy recalled a book he had meant to show Mr Sutcliffe, the gentlemen departed to the library for a time.

"I can never be sure whether Mr Sutcliffe and Mr Darcy like each other or not," Kitty said when they had gone. "They seem like such friends at times, but then they argue constantly."

Elizabeth found this diverting. "As Mr Sutcliffe said once, they are the sort of friends who disagree, rather than friends who are of like mind on every subject. They _are_ friends, and think well of one another, but they have differing opinions on certain matters. Even when they dispute, there is no ill will."

"And you and Miss Bingley? Do you like each other? It is hard to tell with her as well."

Elizabeth did not answer quite so promptly this time. "We have such different tastes and temperaments that we will probably never be truly close friends, but we are certainly on good terms. She is the sister of Mr Bingley, and a great friend to Georgiana, and those facts alone make her agreeable to me."

"Miss Bingley has always been very kind to me," Georgiana added, "but somehow she never truly warmed to Elizabeth the way I did. I was sorry for it."

"Your friends do not always have to be mine," Elizabeth told her, smiling affectionately. "Not many of us will ever have more than a very few true friends, with whom we share a deep empathy and strong bond of affection; some of us only one or two in the whole course of our life. The rest of our acquaintances may be cordial but not truly intimate. It is the natural consequence of our having different characters, which will have a strong affinity for some individuals, less so for others."

Mr Sutcliffe was asked to stay to dinner as well, and happily accepted, making the table lively with shared humour, the occasional disagreement, and discussion of interesting and serious topics, most of which Kitty found she was at last able to follow tolerably well. Coffee was served in the sitting room, where conversation continued at length. Kitty found herself enjoying the company so well, she lost track of the time, and was startled when a clock struck the hour. She looked toward the window, which was completely dark. "Oh! I had no idea it was so late! I should get back to my aunt and uncle."

Mr Darcy stood, offering to order the carriage.

"I should also take my leave," Mr Sutcliffe said, rising.

"In that case, perhaps you would be good enough to escort Miss Bennet home before continuing to your own residence," Mr Darcy suggested.

"I should be happy to," he said, bowing to Kitty. She protested that it was unnecessary for him to trouble himself, but he pointed out that only one carriage would be needed if she allowed him to accompany her, and she accepted the practicality of the arrangement.

During the carriage ride, conversation was easy and comfortable, as was usual with Mr Sutcliffe, and Kitty did not hesitate to inquire about his earlier discussion with Mr Darcy. "What was that rhyme which Mr Darcy recited, which seemed to cause a dispute between you?" Mr Sutcliffe obligingly explained the Peasant's Revolt, his account greatly abridged to allow for the short carriage ride, and made plain Mr Darcy's reference. Kitty, who had until that moment been nearly unaware of these historical events, found them so intriguing that she expressed a wish to read more on the subject, and Mr Sutcliffe proposed, with her permission, to lend her a book which dealt with the matter. She accepted his offer with thanks just as they arrived at the Gardiners' residence.

He entered the house, staying just long enough to greet Mrs Gardiner and ask leave to call the next day, then bowed and returned to the carriage. "Very kind of him to escort you home, Kitty," her aunt remarked.

"Yes," she agreed absently, her attention on a knot in her bonnet strings, "for we were both leaving at the same time, in Mr Darcy's carriage." She removed her wraps and joined her aunt before the fire.

Georgiana called on Kitty after breakfast, recognizing that her friend's visit to London was nearly at an end and they had little time to spend together before her return to Hertfordshire. They took their usual walk, then spent some time quietly together with their sewing, talking as they worked. Mr Sutcliffe called, as promised, in the afternoon. He reprised for Georgiana the brief discussion of historical events from the previous evening, and he and Georgiana together expanded on them for Kitty's sake, first talking of the revolt itself, then of other significant occurrences during the same era, while Mrs Gardiner listened and marvelled at the unfamiliar spectacle of Catherine Bennet engaged in a tolerably intelligent discussion of fourteenth century class conflicts.

On arriving home from his office, the genial Mr Gardiner greeted his guests and extended an invitation to dinner to both. Over the meal, Mr Sutcliffe indicated that this visit was meant to be a leavetaking, for he was returning to Fardale the following morning. He expressed the hope that they might all meet again soon, adding that their pleasant company made him regret having to leave London, which Kitty took as gallantry. He followed this remark by asking Georgiana when she and her brother and sister might be returning to Pemberley, and what her plans were during their travels in the spring, which turned Kitty's thoughts back to her earlier speculations about Mr Sutcliffe's regard for her friend. She maintained her resolve not to speak of it, but wished she could determine whether such a match would be well thought of by Georgiana's guardians.

The trip to Hertfordshire was longer, more frequently interrupted, and less comfortable than might have been, as Mrs Gardiner had decided she could not leave her two youngest children behind. The two eldest had to remain in London and attend school, and their nurse to stay with them, but the little ones were permitted to come along and meet their new cousin. Their travel had therefore to be focused upon keeping the children calm, easing their irritable boredom during the lengthy carriage ride, and making frequent stops as one or the other of them required it. Kitty could not help but notice how easily the Gardiners dealt with it all, and concluded that the difficulty of caring for small children must become far less with time and familiarity, and most likely by the natural attachment of parenthood. She did her best to make herself useful, easing the process by regarding it as educational.

Kitty's homecoming to Longbourn was as warm as might be expected, her return to Netherfield the following day far more so. Little Alice had, as Kitty had anticipated, grown and changed considerably during her absence, and now seemed more like a real child, able to at least exchange looks and smiles. Mrs Gardiner exclaimed over the child's beauty, and her own children paid homage in their own way to their newest relation, by poking at her experimentally and making faces to induce her to laugh. Mr Gardiner gave Mr Bingley much pleasure by observing a distinct similarity between his features and his daughter's, and each of the guests were given the privilege of holding the infant, until she finally began to protest and was taken off by her mother and nurse to be consoled.

Only the demands of politeness kept Mr Bingley from talking of nothing but the baby, for he was as enraptured by fatherhood as he had been on the day of Alice's birth; but he forced himself to take an interest in his other relations' circumstances, and inquired about Mr Gardiner's business, and asked Kitty how she had enjoyed her time in London. Kitty was describing her activities in the city as Jane returned to the drawing room.

"Is Baby asleep?" Mr Bingley asked.

"Yes, she dropped off almost as soon as we entered the nursery."

"Are you pleased with Mrs Wilby"s services?" Mrs Gardiner asked.

"Very pleased; she loves children, and she is conscientious without being too interfering and possessive, as I've heard some nurses can be," Jane told her.

"And she is not harsh with the baby," Mr Bingley added, "as some nurses are as well. I could not bear to see her treated unkindly, and Mrs Wilby is happy to have little Alice in her arms much of the day, which keeps her from crying." Kitty reflected that Elizabeth had been right to assume that Jane's child would be treated with indulgence.

Kitty finished her account of her time in London, and Jane turned to Mary. "Your sister has been busy while you were away; but I suppose you have heard all about that by now."

Kitty had not, in fact, heard much spoken on the subject at home, for Mrs Bennet took no interest in Mary's charity work, and Mr Bennet was prone to find it a source of humour; but Kitty felt the benefit of much time in more polite society, as she rallied quickly, and said, "I have had time to hear only a few words on the subject since coming home, and have not yet had the opportunity to ask Mary for a full account. I know her work for the parish must have expanded greatly since I left."

"Do tell us more about it, Mary," her aunt put in. "I'm sure your letters did not include every detail."

Mary needed no more invitation, and she described with eagerness, and more than a little self-importance, the small charity school of which she was now headmistress and sole teacher, and the regular benevolent work for the destitute of the parish, which she helped organize and carry out. Kitty could not help but observe the difference between the gracious and unassuming way in which Elizabeth went about her own charitable work, and Mary's haughty ministration, but kept such thoughts hidden and questioned Mary with the others. Mary's work had indeed expanded, and she was now occupied with it, in one capacity or another, almost every day. Kitty joined the others in expressing their hearty approval, which Mary accepted with pleasure.

Once settled again at home, Kitty fell quickly into a routine, but not quite the one she had been accustomed to. She took up regular sewing of a more practical kind, producing useful items as donations to Mary's charitable efforts. She took to reading more regularly, having become accustomed to it during her visits. She took daily walks, as often for the pleasure of roaming the countryside as to reach town. She called on Jane several times a week, taking great pleasure in her eldest sister's company, and that of her charming niece. The company of her aunt and uncle Gardiner, while they remained at Longbourn, added interest to the conversations at home, and the presence of their two children kept her busy as well, for only her aunt and herself took much interest in amusing them.

She wrote frequently to Elizabeth and to Georgiana, taking more pleasure in correspondence than she had ever done previously, and undertaking to write as Georgiana did, for beauty and originality as well as to convey information. She wrote occasionally to Lydia, attempting to produce letters which would be pleasing to her sister, and at the same time might, without appearing to preach or advise, be encouraging to her in what Kitty assumed to be a growing dissatisfaction with her situation. It was a subtle process, and Lydia's letters, although not long, invariably took more time to compose than any others.

Eight days after her arrival at home, a package arrived by post during the family breakfast, addressed to Mr Bennet. He puzzled over it a moment, for the address from which it originated was unfamiliar to him; then cut it open and removed two volumes. "What is the meaning of this, I wonder?" he said, examining the books. "A history of England in the fourteenth century, and a commentary on the Peasant Revolt. But I do not recall ordering such books." He looked from Kitty to his wife, quickly dismissing the likelihood of their being involved, and settling on his third daughter. "Mary, did you send for these?"

"No, Papa."

He looked through the wrappings and found a letter, which he unfolded and read. "Hm! It seems they were sent for Kitty."

Mrs Bennet looked surprised. "But who would be sending history books to Kitty?" she demanded. "It must have been misdirected somehow."

"No, my dear, there is no mistake. Listen to what the sender writes." He read from the enclosed note. "_Dear Mr Bennet, _he begins, following the rules of correspondence irreproachably thus far._  
>"I hope you will overlook my forwardness in introducing myself to your attention in this way. I am an acquaintance, I hope I may say a friend, of Mr and Mrs Gardiner, and of Mr and Mrs Darcy; and as the parish of which I am minister is a short distance from the latter's estate, I am a regular visitor there. <em>  
><em>While staying at Pemberley last summer, I became acquainted with your two daughters, Miss Mary Bennet and Miss Catherine Bennet. During a conversation which included Miss Catherine Bennet, certain aspects of English history were discussed, in which she expressed a particular interest. I therefore took the liberty of offering to lend her some books relating to the subject, and with your permission, I am now forwarding them to her, to keep for as long as she finds convenient.<em>  
><em>If you have no objection to the items, may I request that you pass them along to your daughter with my very best wishes. <em>  
><em>Your humble servant, Henry Sutcliffe<em>.  
>"Well, Kitty, it seems you have an admirer; and one who takes an unusual approach. Scholarly writings on populist uprisings of past centuries is not what most gentlemen would consider a love token; but I must congratulate him on his originality, at least."<p>

All eyes turned to Kitty, her aunt's and uncle's expressions oddly complacent; her mother's surprised; Mary's skeptical; and her father's, as usual, amused. "No, it is nothing of the kind!" Kitty protested.

"Come, Kitty, this is very particular attention," Mrs Gardiner gently contradicted her.

"And done in a very respectable manner," Mr Bennet added. "Some heedless modern gentlemen might have posted the gift directly to the girl herself. A man of romantic sensibilities who read novels would no doubt have passed it to her secretly in a graveyard at midnight. But _this_ gentleman observes the proprieties. Such conventional behaviour very nearly counterbalances his eccentric practice of courting a young lady by setting her to study schoolbooks."

"You're mistaken, entirely mistaken!" Kitty insisted. "We really were talking about history, just as he said, and he offered to lend me books; but there was no suggestion of..." She blushed, and left off. "I _think_ he might admire my friend Georgiana Darcy, but I cannot be sure even of that. He certainly does not mean this as any kind of..." Again, she broke off, trusting the others to take her meaning.

"Your friend Miss Darcy! I see," Mr Bennet said, handing the books over to Kitty across the breakfast table. "A devious approach, then, conspiring to engage the approval of his object's nearest friends and relations before declaring himself openly. This is too convoluted a plot for me to keep track of, but interesting, I admit. I eagerly await further developments."


	22. Comings and Goings

_"Travel and change of place impart new vigor to the mind." _  
><em>Seneca<em>

* * *

><p>Kitty greatly enjoyed the Gardiners' stay at Longbourn, possibly more than either of them enjoyed it, for while Mr Gardiner loved his sister, and Mrs Gardiner tried to feel the same for her husband's sake, they both found Mrs Bennet's company trying after even a few days. However, they both took pleasure in seeing their nieces and grand-niece, and even the acerbic Mr Bennet. While they stayed, Kitty had her little cousins to amuse, but more importantly, she had her aunt and uncle's company and their rational conversation, something she realized she would miss once they had returned to London. Kitty and Mrs Gardiner joined Mary on some of her charitable visits within the parish, and she and Kitty adapted their needlework from the decorative to the purely practical, to provide whatever Mary informed them was most needed at the time. They were also, along with Mr Gardiner, taken to the site of her beloved Welbore Ellis Charity Girls' School and proudly shown its interior and the small store of books and educational materials it had been provided with. Mary talked with more animation than was usual for her, of her hopes for the institution's future, and of the advancements her few pupils had made so far.<p>

The history books Kitty had received remained untouched on a shelf for some days after their arrival. She expected them to be well beyond her understanding, and unlikely to be of any interest to her, and hesitated to even make the attempt. She asked her father to relay her thanks to Mr Sutcliffe for entrusting her with the books, and only a sense of obligation finally impelled her to open one of the volumes. She was relieved to find that the contents were neither too difficult nor too dull for her. It therefore occurred to her that, Mr Sutcliffe being aware of her inadequacies, they might have been specifically chosen for their simplicity, and she went so far as to ask Mary her opinion. Mary looked through both volumes briefly. "They are not truly scholarly works, in the strictest sense, but they are hardly at the level of schoolchildren, either. They are what one might call popular histories, but of merit and well worth reading, I should estimate."

"Thank you, Mary." Kitty did not doubt her sister's appraisal. She was pleased that Mr Sutcliffe did not presume her to require childishly simple books, and happily surprised that she could live up to his expectations in this regard.

"Perhaps I could borrow one of these from you, while you read the other," Mary suggested.

"Of course," Kitty said, a little diverted by the highly unusual circumstance of lending books to Mary. "This rebellion must be the oddest event in English history, I suppose."

"I think not. There are striking circumstances throughout the past centuries, many of greater significance. The signing of Magna Carta, to name one example."

Kitty recalled only the broadest outline of this affair, and when Mary briefly reacquainted her with the key points of interest, became intrigued by the dramatic turmoil suggested. "Are there books describing the event in more detail?"

"Assuredly. At the very least, it would be included in any complete history of Britain."

"Do you really get all your books from Clarke's?" Kitty had visited the circulating library many times, but had until then taken interest only in its store of novels, and had not renewed her subscription that year.

"Most of them. I have borrowed some from Papa's library, of course, and a few I have bought."

"I shall have to take a better look, next time I am in Meryton." Mary offered to guide her through the process of selecting works of history, but Kitty's fledgling interest was not quite prepared to face Mary's somewhat formidable guidance, and she asked her sister to defer until she had considered the possible areas of study, and reacquainted herself with the library's offerings. Mary readily agreed, happy enough to have been consulted.

Kitty did, in fact, carry out her stated plans, managing very well as long as she restricted herself to those popular histories Mary had alluded to. Several weeks later, she quite startled her father by asking him to return the two books to Mr Sutcliffe with thanks, and to pass along the information that she had found them so interesting, that she had engaged in a series of readings on similar subjects, and was presently very much enjoying an account of the reign of King John. Mr Bennet could only surmise, as the one possible explanation, that his original presumption of an attachment between his daughter and this Sutcliffe gentleman must have been correct after all. He posted the books back to their owner, enclosing a letter in which he transmitted Kitty's thanks and her message in cordial but reserved terms, and resolved, in keeping with his late-acquired sense of paternal responsibility, to keep a watchful eye on the situation and, above all, to suggest nothing to his wife for the time being.

Mr Sutcliffe was recalled to Kitty's mind fairly often, not only when she read the borrowed books from his library, but every Sunday morning while listening to Mr Swanscott's sermon. She could not help but compare his preaching unfavourably with what she had twice heard at the church in Fardale, and sometimes amused herself by trying to imagine how Mr Sutcliffe might deal with the chosen text. Composing sermons in Mr Sutcliffe's borrowed voice gave her unexpected pleasure, and often occupied her mind during Sunday services, or even to while away dull rainy days at home.

When the Gardiners returned to London, Kitty's visits to Netherfield increased in frequency, for she found she enjoyed Jane's company more than ever. She also took great pleasure in watching little Alice grow and thrive, and her parents dote upon her, and Netherfield became something of a second home to her. While she continued to call upon Maria Lucas and her aunt Phillips, and to walk into Meryton as usual, the Netherfield remained her favourite and most frequent destination.

Kitty's nineteenth birthday was marked by a letter from her aunt Gardiner and another from Elizabeth, in which congratulations were jointly sent by her sister and by Georgiana. Soon after, when March brought milder weather, Kitty returned to her acquired habit of taking long walks for their own sake, sometimes in Mary's company, when she could be spared from her studies, her music, and her parish work, which now seemed to take up a great deal of her time. With the advent of early spring, a monthly ball was organized at the assembly room in Meryton, and while the same company appeared there as in previous years, Kitty heartily welcomed the opportunity to dance. She was always asked to dance nearly every dance, but no beaux appeared to take any particular interest in her beyond standing up with her for two dances over the course of the evening. She was not disappointed, for away from Lydia's constant attitude of flirtation, she had ceased to expect it, or to require it for her own peace of mind.

At the end of March, Elizabeth and Mr Darcy arrived for their final visit prior to departing for Europe. They had at first proposed to stay at Netherfield, giving the Bennets' convenience as their excuse, whatever their real reasons might be; but Mrs Bennet took exception to this, and rather than offend her they agreed to accept her hospitality. They were to stay for only eight days, for they had to be in Dover when their boat sailed.

"Where will your sister be staying while you are away, Mr Darcy?" Mrs Bennet asked at dinner, the day after her guests' arrival at Longbourn. Kitty had told her twice where Georgiana would be, but was not surprised that it had been forgotten. "Will she be all alone at home?"

"Georgiana is taking a small tour of her own, visiting friends and family members whom she seldom sees due to distance."

"Don't you remember, Mama," Kitty added, "I told you she would be coming to stay with Jane and Mr Bingley in the summer."

"Yes, and we plan to meet her there on our return, and perhaps drive back to Pemberley with her," Mr Darcy said.

"Oh, I see! You have it all planned out in such detail, just like the rest of your journey."

"It is necessary for such a trip."

"Of course, I see that," Mrs Bennet said, clearly not seeing. "It is very exciting to see all the sights of France and...everywhere, or so I should think, for Mr Bennet and I only went as far as Scotland and through the Lakes after our wedding, you know. Still, it must be rather uncomfortable to be among foreigners all the time, and many of them unable to speak English at all, I should suppose."

Mr Darcy attempted to reassure her, explaining the services available to British travelers throughout most of the continent, and managed to at least convey that they should not at any time find themselves stranded in alien lands and unable to obtain food or lodging.

"Well, Lizzy, it seems you will have your wedding journey at last. You know what I have told you before, that the trip is good luck, and brings children, some say, so it could be that you will at last...that is why Jane had her first child so quickly, perhaps."

"Perhaps, Mama," Elizabeth said, looking very uncomfortable and trying to turn the conversation, but she was interrupted.

"I cannot see why you should have been married so long, and still no children! Why, Jane was born only..."

"You must not be concerned, Ma'am," Mr Darcy said in a voice of cold command which somewhat negated the courteous words, and Mrs Bennet blinked in mild trepidation. He had seemed prepared to remain silent, but Elizabeth's embarrassment stirred him to action. "It is no more than a family trait. I was born many years after my parents' wedding, and my sister nearly ten years later, with no other siblings, living or deceased. It was much the same with my grandparents. So you see, it is no great wonder, nor any cause for alarm."

Mrs Bennet remained apprehensive, and replied nervously, "Oh! Yes, I am sure that must be it. Children will come in time."

"Indeed," he replied, his voice calm and polite, but retaining all of its austere tone, "And if they do not, that is God's will. Children would be a great blessing; but in all honesty, a man with an estimable wife and at least one trustworthy heir can hardly want for more from life. And therefore, I hope, Mrs Bennet, you will give up any apprehension on the subject, and join me in leaving the matter quietly in the hands of Providence."

Mrs Bennet was quite overwhelmed by this unusually stern speech, its careful outward courtesy only increasing its effect, and could only whisper her assent. Mr Darcy ignored the gleam of amusement in his father in law's eye, as Mr Bennet obligingly introduced a new topic. "Lizzy has written that her portrait was completed, Mr Darcy. Is it to your liking?"

"Very much so, and it now hangs in the gallery at Pemberley. I hope you will have the opportunity to judge for yourself before long."

"Yes, Papa," Elizabeth agreed, "you have never yet come to see us at Pemberley."

"I am not much of a traveller," Mr Bennet said, "but I shall make the effort before the end of summer. It is, after all, common courtesy to visit a bride soon after her marriage, and a formalist might frown on a delay of more than two years."

The Darcys were seen off from Longbourn with some little fanfare, cheered on their way by Mrs Bennet's exhortations not to drown on their passage from Dover. Less than a week after their departure, Miss Bingley and the Hursts arrived at Netherfield to greet their new niece, bringing Alice Bingley good wishes and unsuitable gifts, and staying some ten or twelve days before hurrying back to London. They called on the Bennets only once in that time, and briefly; but during their visit, Mrs Hurst let slip a piece of news she had just obtained from Mr Bingley. "I do hope dear Charles won't choose a place too far from London," she observed to Miss Bingley. At Mrs Bennet's curious look, she added, "Or too far from Hertfordshire, for your family's sake, Mrs Bennet."

"Choose a place? What do you mean?"

"I beg your pardon! I had thought you must know. He and Jane are looking for an estate. The lease on Netherfield expires soon, and they hope to establish themselves somewhere permanently."

"No, I had heard nothing of the kind! Are you sure? Jane has not said a word about it to me!"

"I believe they have only today come to a decision," Mrs Hurst said soothingly, "and no doubt meant to tell you at your next meeting. I am afraid I spoke out of turn."

"And here we were so happy to have Jane only three miles away from us!" Mrs Bennet began to lament at length.

"It was to be expected, sooner or later, Mrs Bennet," her husband said, trying to stem the tide of audible grief. "They would not want to rent a place forever. Of course Mr Bingley intends to have an estate of his own."

"But could he not buy Netherfield?" she asked.

"I do not believe it is for sale," Mrs Hurst told her. "And in any case, it does not constitute an estate such as our brother is seeking out, for it provides no income."

Mrs Bennet was not appeased, but she left off arguing, choosing to save her protests for Jane herself. Mr Bennet was able to persuade her not to appear unexpectedly at Netherfield to upbraid the Bingleys, particularly while they had guests, but when Mr Bingley's relations left two days later, she sent an invitation to dinner for that day, which was duly accepted.

As it happened, the conflict which Mrs Bennet expected did not take place. Far from guiltily denying her accusation of attempting to leave the neighbourhood, Jane and Mr Bingley acknowledged that they had begun searching for a suitable estate, and hoped to move before the end of summer.

"Netherfield was always meant to be a temporary establishment," Mr Bingley explained. "It was very well when I was a bachelor, but now it is time to secure a family estate. It will keep our fortune in good order for the next generation."

Mrs Bennet could hardly object to such an intention, but had to add, "It is just a shame that it will take you out of the neighbourhood!"

"But not too far for regular visits, I trust," Mr Bingley assured her.

Mr Bennet added nothing to the conversation, being enough of a dispassionate observer to understand the young couple's wish to be at a slightly greater distance from the wife's immediate family. He only waited until Mrs Bennet had been reconciled to the change, and then wished the Bingleys well and hoped they would find a suitable place before long. Kitty, although she said nothing during the entire exchange, felt the loss as keenly as her mother, for she had begun to feel more at home in Netherfield and with the Bingleys than at Longbourn, and found it hard to reconcile herself to the loss of this comfortable refuge. She did, however, understand the wish to find a home of their own, and so refrained from showing any disappointment for some time. When at last her feelings expressed themselves, during a visit to Netherfield, Jane immediately assured her that she could come and stay with them often. Mr Bingley's support of the idea was so immediate and warm, and accompanied by candid references to himself and Jane having discussed the very idea between them, that Kitty accepted her welcome as genuine, and was greatly cheered by the prospect of regular visits to Jane's new establishment. She was even able to hear accounts of the houses the Bingleys had so far considered with equanimity, and to laugh with Mr Bingley over the curious inadequacies of some of the places they had rejected.

Even while traveling, Elizabeth was a faithful correspondent, and letters arrived regularly, intriguing in their odd stationery, and unfamiliar wax and seals. She wrote to her parents with the greater part of the news of her travels, but also took time to sometimes send a particular letter to either Mary or Kitty, describing sights and events each would have found of interest. As they learned, she also wrote to Jane and to Charlotte Lucas. "I should have thought," Mrs Bennet remarked, after hearing her husband read aloud a letter describing Elizabeth's time in Rome, "that travel of this kind would use up all one's time; but Lizzy still writes to everyone, even more often that she did when she was in Derbyshire."

"Elizabeth brings a very small lap desk with her wherever she goes," Mary said, "with all her letter writing apparatus inside and ready for use at a moment's notice. It is a very practical device. That is how she keeps up with her letters, even when traveling, for I have seen her write letters almost everywhere, even outdoors or in a waiting carriage."

"I remember that little desk! Such a pretty design." Kitty replied. "She had it with her in London. Lizzy is always careful to keep up with her correspondence, for I think she has to write a great many letters as mistress of Pemberley, and I suppose making the task convenient would help."

Mary's reply was interrupted. "Good Heavens, girls!" their mother laughed. "You make her sound like someone's clerk!" The subject was dropped, replaced by Mrs Bennet's reading her sister Phillips' news from Meryton.

It appeared that many available homes throughout England had serious flaws, for the Bingleys were still at Netherfield, and still without any immediate plans to resettle, when Georgiana, to Kitty's delight, arrived to stay with them; nor by the end of June, when the Darcys returned from their tour and arrived in Hertfordshire by way of Hunsford, where they had paused to visit the Collinses for a week or so. At Mrs Bennet's insistence, they once again stayed at Longbourn, and another visit of only ten days was sufficient to acquaint the family with all the delights of the continent that had been already described in letters, to be informed of any news from the neighbourhood, to present the family with mementos obtained in their travels, to accept an evening party at Lucas Lodge and one with Mr and Mrs Phillips, and to submit to a second inspection of the Welbore Ellis School.

Mr Darcy also had some business to conduct with the Bingleys, for as Jane explained to her parents, he had instructed his steward to inform him of any suitable estates within a particular range of value which might become available, and asked his attorney and several acquaintances in different parts of the country to do the same. He had thereby acquired details of three separate estates which met with his friend's requirements, and presented accounts of them on his arrival at Netherfield. He accepted with equanimity, and even with pleasure, his wife's teasing on the prodigious care he took of his friend. The Bingleys' sincere thanks became truly heartfelt when one of the three estates proved to please both of them on all counts. Since the place was in Derbyshire, no more than thirty miles from Pemberley, they proposed accompanying the Darcys on their return home, in order to approve the estate and, if acceptable, offer to purchase it.

Kitty's private hopes were answered a day later, when Elizabeth, at Georgiana's earnest request, invited Kitty to accompany them north and stay with them at Pemberley. Mary was once again included in the invitation, but she again declined. Having had her parish work observed and praised by family, friends, and even strangers within the parish, had increased her attachment to it, and had even caused some of the pleasure derived from approval to become attached to the work itself, to the greater benefit of her young pupils and the deserving poor. She was praised once more for her dedication in foregoing a visit in order to continue her duties, and was urged to at least accompany her parents when they came to Pemberley, since her school would soon be inactive for the rest of the summer.

Georgiana was first of the visitors to depart, in the company of her lady's maid and a footman and driver, for she was to travel by way of Kent and visit Rosings briefly before returning home. Georgiana confided to Kitty that she felt a little disloyal visiting someone who so strongly disapproved of her dear Elizabeth, especially when such an unyielding separation existed between her brother and Lady Catherine. However, Mr Darcy had made clear that he did not wish his own estrangement to affect Georgiana's relations with her aunt; and Elizabeth had privately urged Georgiana to maintain contact, hoping that this would ultimately serve as the means to a reconciliation. Therefore, Georgiana took the visit as something of a family obligation, and was as cordial as possible to her aunt, only insisting that nothing derogatory was ever spoken in her presence regarding her sister in law or her brother's marriage. She and Kitty bid each other farewell with less melancholy than usual, knowing that they would soon be reunited.

While the Darcys were taking tea at Longbourn one afternoon, not many days before their expected departure to Derbyshire, the housekeeper entered the room, looking cross and uncertain. "Yes, what is it, Hill?" Mrs Bennet asked.

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but there's a young woman come to the back door, who asks to speak to the family, and refuses to go away. Not a lady, Ma'am, but a common woman, very shabby, and looks as if she'd been traveling some time. She speaks with an accent I don't recognize." This last fact did not convey much, for Mrs Hill had never set foot outside Hertfordshire in her life. "She says her name is Rose Plaskitt. She's been there this past hour or two, and nothing will send her away."

"What does she want? Is she a beggar?"

"I believe not, Ma'am, but she won't say exactly what it is she wants. Only that it is important she talk to the family, and she will tell her story only to one of them."

"If she won't state her business, she must go," Mr Bennet said. As Mrs Hill looked uncertain, he asked, "Is there more to this?"

"Well, sir..." She glanced at the Darcys.

"I'm sure you can speak freely, Mrs Hill."

"She says, sir, that if she is not heard, she will make trouble for the family."

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

"She told Cook that she could harm the family's name if she wished. That's why I wasn't sure if I should send her off without asking, you see."

"Quite right, Mrs Hill. I suppose I must see what the woman wants. Bring her to the servants' hall, if you would, and I'll speak with her there." Mrs Hill curtseyed and hurried away. "Well," Mr Bennet said to the others, "it seems that disgracing the family name has become quite a popular pastime recently, for which people now travel great distances to compete; but this Plaskitt woman has large shoes to fill if she wishes to make her mark in such a crowded field." He left the room.


	23. Castoffs

_"Men and women, as you hope for mercy, spurn not your fallen sisters, but try to reclaim them."  
>T. Augustus Forbes Leith<em>

* * *

><p>Mrs Bennet was consumed with curiosity concerning this strange visitor. She asked repeatedly what the woman might want, and her daughters replied just as often that they did not know; and efforts to distract her were not successful for long. She finally instructed Kitty to go downstairs and listen at the door, which Kitty did her best to refuse, saying her father would certainly be angry at such an attempt, but only when Elizabeth and Mary came to her defence did their mother abandon her plan. To their surprise, after only a minute or two, Mr Bennet returned to the room, looking grave and tired.<p>

His wife looked at him expectantly. "Well, Mr Bennet? What was it all about? Who is that woman? Why did she come here?"

"Your questions will be answered in full, Mrs Bennet, before long. At present, we still have business to attend to." He turned to their guests. "Mr Darcy, I am sorry to impose on you, but this matter has some connection with you, in a very indirect way, and you may have something of substance to offer. I should be glad of your opinion; and yours as well, Lizzy. With your permission, I shall bring the woman in here, and ask you to participate in our discussion."

They both readily agreed. At Mr Bennet's request, the young woman entered the room slowly and stood near the doorway, nervously regarding the people gathered there. She was, indeed, very shabby and looked as if she had traveled a great deal without much opportunity to wash herself or mend her clothing. She appeared to be about twenty years old, and likely would have been pretty under better circumstances. Kitty was startled when a tiny face appeared from behind her skirts; a small child was standing behind her, peering shyly out at them.

Mr Bennet addressed them all, his manner one of weary, forced lightness. "Let me introduce our guest. This is Miss Rose Plaskitt, and beside her is her daughter, Agnes." He turned back to the woman and child. "Miss Plaskitt, I'm sure your daughter would be more comfortable in the kitchen, do you not think? She must be hungry. Let Cook give her something to eat." The woman warily agreed. Mrs Bennet rose to ring for the maid, but her husband forestalled her. "No, my dear, I'm sure there are servants enough close to hand." He abruptly opened the door, to find two maids standing just outside the room, obviously embarrassed at having been caught eavesdropping. "Take young Agnes here to the kitchen, and ask Mrs Fernsby to give her something while we confer with her mother. And if you would," he added, with a trace of his usual humour, "instruct all the other servants that there is no call to polish the sitting room door until further notice."

Their mysterious visitor spoke softly to the child, who reluctantly allowed the maid to take her hand and lead her away. Mr Bennet closed the door firmly. "Have a seat, Miss Plaskitt." She perched cautiously on a chair. "Kindly relate for my family's benefit what you have just now told me." She hesitated, and he added, "Come now, you have traveled great distances for this very purpose. What is it you have come here for?"

She spoke at last. "I'm looking for my child's father." Her accent, Kitty noticed, was indeed unfamiliar.

Mrs Bennet began to exclaim, but her husband forestalled her. "Please, Mrs Bennet, allow us to continue our discussion. You may express yourself about the proceedings after they are completed." He turned back to the young woman. "And what brought you to this house, in particular?"

"I have been following his steps, Sir, for some time. First I was able to learn that he was at a great house to the north-west as a boy, so I went there. The housekeeper sent me away, but one of the farmers close by took pity on me, and told me he had gone off to join the militia, down in Herfordshire, so I travelled here."

"How?" Elizabeth asked her. "On foot?"

"Mostly, Ma'am. Sometimes I was able to beg for a ride on a farmer's cart, or do some work in exchange for the right to ride on the back of a coach for some distance, but for the most part we walked."

"Even the little girl?"

"Sometimes I would carry her on my back, Ma'am, when she grew tired."

"Good Heavens," Elizabeth said softly.

"And what then?" Mr Bennet demanded.

"I was able to discover that the militia had been at a town called Meryton, but when I arrived, they had already left some time ago. I found work, cleaning at the public house, and the publican remembered him; told me he had left the regiment and married a lady from just outside town, a young lady from this very house. And so here I am."

Everyone realized at once who the woman was referring to. "George Wickham!" Mr Darcy said, his tone of voice making the name sound like a curse.

"Yes, Sir. That is Agnes' father, Sir."

Mr Bennet took a moment to once again urge his wife to contain herself.

Mr Darcy's expression grew cold. He muttered under his breath, "Will we never see the end of..." He broke off abruptly and addressed Miss Plaskitt. "He left you no address, I take it? No way to contact him?"

"No, Sir, none at all. One day he was just gone. He left without paying my father, in fact."

"Paying your father?" Mr Bennet repeated.

"Yes, Sir, for Father is an innkeeper. Mr Wickham stayed at his inn, and that is how we met."

"Where...?" Kitty turned at the strained tone of Mr Darcy's voice. He had turned pale, and his expression even more stony. "Where is this inn of your father's?"

"In Ramsgate, Sir, not far from the harbour. The Green Man, it's called."

"And how old is your daughter now?" he asked. Mr Bennet looked at him curiously, for he seemed to find these details of great importance.

"She just turned four years, Sir, last month. First of May she was born."

Elizabeth laid a hand on her husband's arm, as if to console him. Kitty did not understand at first why these times and places were significant, until it suddenly came to her: given the little girl's age and the mother's former place of residence, Mr Wickham must have fathered the child during the time he was in Ramsgate, attempting to persuade Georgiana to elope with him. She met Elizabeth's eyes, trying to silently express her sympathy.

"And _why_ are you searching for Mr Wickham?" Mr Bennet asked her. "What do you hope to do if you find him? Try and force him to marry you?"

"Oh, no, Sir! I had no such idea! A gentleman like him would not marry such as me, I understand that well enough; but I did plan to ask him to do right by his child."

"But if he abandoned you without a word, he certainly feels no obligation toward you."

"But that was before he knew Agnes was expected, Sir."

"Have you never tried to contact him before?"

"I tried, Sir, a little, but when I could find no trace of him, I gave up. I hoped to manage as best I could on my own, but things got very bad. My father and mother cast me off when they found out I expected a child; and the young man I had an understanding with, he did as well."

"You were to marry! And yet you took up with Mr Wickham?" Mr Bennet asked.

"I never meant to, Sir." At his look of disapproval, she began, with obvious discomfort, to explain. "He was polite to me, when he was staying at The Green Man, more than most travelers are. And then he would speak to me sometimes, as if he were a friend. He was so kind, and never improper at all, and I never suspected he thought anything bad. Somehow he made people think good of him; my father and the inn servants and everybody, they all thought the same."

Mr Darcy was nodding grimly. "This is something we have heard before. It is a particular talent of his."

"He asked me to go with him and help him find something, some bits of old Roman things, I believe, which he said could be found in the woods near Ramsgate for those who knew how to look. He made it sound respectable and like something learned people would do, like an adventure and not a lovers' meeting, and one or two of the inn's maids were to come along, or so he said." She began to speak quietly, looking down at her hands, as if speaking to herself. "But once I was with him alone, it all changed, and...he said I would not have come with him if I ha'an't meant to...and he was stronger than me...and then I was ruined, and no use, he said, trying to undo what had been done."

"Do you mean to say he used force?" Mr Bennet demanded.

She frowned as though puzzled. "I don' know, Sir. I suppose he did, in a way, but he was right, I _had_ gone with him to the woods, and it was only my own foolishness to blame for whatever came after." She looked up at last. "It don' matter now, anyway, Sir. The blame for this manner of thing is on the woman, always. I'll take the blame, and the shame of it; but my little Agnes should not starve for it. She's never done a thing wrong."

Mr Darcy, glancing at Mr Bennet for his assent, spoke again. "How have you kept yourself until now? You say your parents and friends all abandoned you?"

"Yes, Sir. My father was willing to help at first, when he found out about my trouble. He sent me away to stay at a farm-house belonging to my mother's relations, where the old couple took care of me until Agnes was born. But I was to give her up before I could come home, and once she was born, I found I couldn't. I loved my little girl, just as much as an honest woman would, and I said I would keep her. So my father would not allow me home, and when Agnes was but a few weeks old I was sent out into the world to fend for myself. I found work where I could, but few places will allow a girl with a bastard, so I barely earned my keep.  
>"Agnes grew strong and healthy, and she was the cleverest child you ever could hope to see, and good as gold, Sir. She can even read a little, young as she is, and understands more than a child twice her age. It made it all the harder that she should have such a bad life. And so one day I began to think, why should she suffer with me, while her father does nothing to provide for her, for tho' he may be free under the law to walk away from his bastard children without a care, he is bound by a higher law to pay for his sins the same as me. I beg pardon if I offend, Sir," she added in Mr Darcy's direction, for his expression was severe.<p>

"You do not offend _me_, Miss Plaskitt," Mr Darcy said. "Your opinion is not unreasonable. So you determined to find Mr Wickham, and persuade him to provide for his natural daughter?"

"I did, Sir. Beginning with what little I knew of him, I started to ask about, and when I got word of where he lived as a boy, I found my way there, and...well, you have heard the rest of it. I hope you will do right by me, and show me where to find him."

"And if we do not, you will ruin our family? For so you told our housekeeper," Mr Bennet said sternly. "I suppose your intention is to spread word of Mr Wickham's infamy, and his connection to us?"

She hesitated. "I'm sorry I said that, Sir. The lady was not going to let me in, and I'd had too long and weary a journey to be turned away just as the end was in sight. I mean your family no harm, but I am in a hopeless place. Please, for Christ's sake, help me and my Agnes." She made the request earnestly enough, but did not seem to hold out much hope that it would be answered favourably.

There was a brief silence. At last Mr Bennet said to her, "I believe I can say this much: you will not be once more put out to fend for yourself. Precisely what kind of help we may be able to provide, I cannot immediately say. Please join your daughter for a few minutes, and allow us to discuss this." Miss Plaskitt, seeming to take heart at his conditional promises, quickly curtseyed and scurried from the room.

Mrs Bennet, whose response seemed to be mainly indignation at anything which would threaten the happiness of her favourite daughter, drew a breath to speak, but was immediately silenced by an unusually forbidding look from her husband. Mr Darcy looked at his wife, and from their exchanged glance seemed to obtain whatever information he sought, and he immediately determined to speak. "Mr Bennet, I agree with your sentiment, and would carry it still further. I regard aid to this unfortunate young woman as a Christian duty, whether or not that aid includes providing her with Mr Wickham's present address."

"I can hardly disagree that we must do something, now that she had been dropped on our doorstep; but I find it unlikely that Mr Wickham would be a satisfactory source of assistance."

"I agree. But as you said, there is a connection, however distant, between Miss Plaskitt and myself. Mr Wickham, who bears the real responsibility for this child, was raised on the Pemberley estate, and might be called a son of Pemberley. If Mr Wickham is not able or willing to provide for her, which must be extremely likely, the burden clearly falls on the estate itself."

"Mr Darcy, you have an uncanny gift for turning other people's duties into your own," Mr Bennet said, his comment better understood by some in the room than by others.

"Surely, the duty belongs more reasonably to me than to yourself."

"There is certainly time to discuss this and come to an agreement. In the meantime, the young woman is currently in my house, and I suppose any immediate relief must be provided here while we make more permanent arrangements."

His wife was instantly moved to speech. "Mr Bennet, you cannot mean to have her stay here! What if Lydia gets news of it? And Lady Lucas? It is the girl's own silly fault for being so foolish and careless! I am sure she is lying about poor Wickham in any case. Are we to reward this kind of behaviour?"

"It is only temporary, Mrs Bennet. We can hardly set her out on the road while we decide what is to become of her."

"Oh, yes, we can! She was on the road before she was let in here! I do not want her in the house, Mr Bennet!"

"Papa," Elizabeth put in, hoping to end the dispute, "perhaps we could ask Jane and Mr Bingley to take her in and let her sleep in the servants' quarters for a day or two. I'm sure they wouldn't mind, if we explained the situation."

"Likely not; both the Bingleys can be relied upon not to mind things, and they will no doubt be deeply sympathetic to the young woman's circumstances."

Mrs Bennet had some objections to Jane having this stranger inflicted upon her, but accepted it as preferable to keeping the woman at Longbourn. After some discussion, it was determined that Elizabeth and Mr Darcy should take their carriage to Netherfield, bringing the two wayfarers along with them, and see whether they could make suitable arrangements.

Rose Plaskitt was overpowered with gratitude when she was made to understand what was intended. She wept as she thanked the family repeatedly, then was taken back to the kitchen to collect her daughter. Elizabeth, judging that they were similar in size, went to her chamber to gather some items of clothing and a pair of boots, and had Fraser pack them in a satchel. Returning to the sitting room, she addressed her mother and sisters. "I have some clothing for Miss Plaskitt, but what about her little girl? She needs a dress, and her shoes are all but worn through."

Mrs Bennet began to remonstrate once more, but it occurred to Mary that the sewing she and Kitty had been doing might be put to immediate use in this situation. They found a simple gown that was only a little large for the girl, and Elizabeth added it to her handbag with thanks. The carriage arrived, and as Mrs Bennet began once again to complain about the unfairness of it all, the Darcys prepared to leave with their charges.

At the last moment, Kitty asked to come along, thinking to avoid her mother's irritation by visiting with Jane for a few hours, and was permitted to join the Darcys in the carriage. Miss Plaskitt forestalled any difficult questions about her precise footing under such unique circumstances by meekly proposing to ride with her daughter on the empty luggage platform behind the carriage, and the question was instantly resolved. On arrival at Netherfield, the passengers left the carriage at the front door as usual, Mr Darcy instructing the driver to deliver their two charges to the servants' entrance and instruct the staff to keep them there until they received further instructions from their employers.

Kitty, finding herself of no immediate use, took a walk through Netherfield's park. When she returned, the gentlemen were quietly talking in the sitting room, but Jane and Elizabeth were absent, and remained so for some time. Elizabeth rejoined them eventually, looking preoccupied and concerned, and Jane shortly thereafter. Mr Bingley suggested a game of cards, which Kitty assumed was meant to distract more than to entertain, as he seemed unwilling to discuss the matter on everyone's minds. Alice awoke, and was taken in to greet the visitors, which provided still more amusement and distraction; as did the ritual of putting her back to bed, which was attended with pleasure by Kitty. It was only when she and the Darcys took their leave and returned to Longbourn for dinner that Kitty had the opportunity to discover what had happened in her absence.

"I take it Jane and Mr Bingley agreed to keep her?" Kitty asked, the second the carriage had begun to move.

"Of course," Elizabeth said. "I knew they would. Neither of them is capable of refusing someone in distress, no matter how uncomfortable the circumstances." Mr Darcy remained silent during their discourse, but smiled at this reference to the Bingleys' compassion. "Kitty, I hardly need to mention that you should avoid relating this situation to Georgiana, in person or by letter, until we have the chance to explain it to her properly."

"Of course; I shall say nothing. But what happened? Where were you and Jane for so long?"

"We had gone to make some arrangements. Jane ordered a room in the servants' quarters set aside for the night, and asked the maids to prepare a bath for both, for they were terribly dirty from their days on the road. I gave the maid the fresh clothing for Miss Plaskitt and her daughter. Then some trouble came up, for the housekeeper, for some reason, felt it was necessary to care for little Agnes in a room apart from her mother. Some remark or other that Mrs Nicholls made gave Miss Plaskitt the idea that there was a plan to take Agnes from her, and her panic ignited her daughter's, and it took some time to convince her that we had no idea of separating the two of them. To soothe the child's fear, they were finally permitted to bathe together."

"She does seem to truly love her little girl," Kitty said.

"I agree. All her efforts seem to be guided by a wish to do her best for her daughter.  
>"Well, we had them in clean clothes, and Jane took a tracing of the child's foot so we could get her a pair of boots. Miss Plaskitt was extremely grateful for it all; but the housekeeper and one or two of the maids became resentful at having to oblige what Mrs Nicholls termed a fallen woman, and Jane had to calm them, as well, and win their assurance that they would at least tolerate the situation. There is more to say on this subject, which I shall add later, when we rejoin our parents.<br>"Jane had thought to give Miss Plaskitt a position at Netherfield, since she had some experience working at an inn, and should at least be able to serve as a scullery maid, but she now wonders whether it would cause too much discord. We have yet to arrive at a final solution; but at least they have a safe place to live for now. But again, I shall tell more about this at home." She left off as the carriage arrived at Longbourn.


	24. Noblesse Oblige

_"It is vain to expect virtue from women till they are in some degree independent of men."_  
><em>Mary Wollstonecraft<em>

* * *

><p>There was time to spare before dinner, and so, after changing, the Bennets and their guests gathered once again in the sitting room. Mrs Bennet was no more resigned to the existence of Miss Plaskitt than before, but her curiosity enabled her to remain quiet while Elizabeth repeated her account of events at Netherfield. She added new information when describing the servants' objections to assisting an unmarried woman with a child.<p>

"The housekeeper seemed to feel it was too much to ask of her, that she would be disgraced by providing service to such a person. Some of the maids seemed to agree with her position, and while they would not openly defy Jane's orders, it was clear they would make themselves disagreeable to Miss Plaskitt." Elizabeth's expression seemed oddly amused, in contrast to the events she was describing. "Jane surprised me very much. Rather than dispute with them or order them about, she very seriously told them that, if they found providing Christian charity to a misused and abandoned woman and a helpless child beneath their dignity, she would not insist. In fact, she said, she would be only too happy to take the honour of the task on herself, and without a moment's hesitation, she took up the large water-can and began carrying it up the back stairs!"

This novel situation amused Mr Bennet. "Indeed! That must have surprised them all."

"Oh, it did! Mrs Nicholls and the maids all stood gaping at her. Of course, I did my best not to look surprised, but only took the second can of hot water and followed Jane. We helped Rose and Agnes bathe and dress." She sighed. "The poor woman's feet were all but mangled from her lengthy travels on foot in those worn shoes. Jane bandaged them for her." She shook her head sadly. "Well, in any case, when three of the servants crept up to look in the door, they found us making up the bed."

Mr Bennet laughed at the imagined scene. "Did Jane's and your demonstration cause the servants to reform their thinking?"

"It seemed to; or else they feared losing their position. Mrs Nicholls seemed quite mortified."

Mary shook her head solemnly. "Such a drastic exhibition will catch their attention, yet may not have a lasting effect, I am afraid. A tract on the subject of charity may be more helpful."

"I could not say how permanent the change may be," Elizabeth said. "Mrs Nicholls did not refer directly to the disagreement, but only came to the room and meekly urged Jane to allow the maids and herself to deal with 'this matter,' which she promised they would do to the mistress' satisfaction. They did, in fact, deal with it, and with no further sign of resentment, at least, none that was openly expressed."

"I congratulate Jane," Mr Bennet said, chuckling. "It is unlike her to be so audacious, and a disgruntled housekeeper can be a fearful prospect even for a brave woman. Well, the problem is settled for now."

"For now, yes," Elizabeth agreed, "but not for long. The Bingleys' servants will be unlikely to tolerate Rose Plaskitt being taken on permanently; even if they accept her outwardly for the sake of their position, she would find herself in a hostile situation."

"Very likely," Mr Darcy agreed. "My proposal is to take the woman and her child with us when we return to Derbyshire. We have access to many situations which might be suitable for her. Moreover, as I said earlier, I feel it is primarily my duty."

"Well, Mr Darcy," Mr Bennet said, "you will easily find general acquiescence when you continually propose to take charge of unpleasant obligations. It is one way to retain influence over others, although far from the easiest way."

"I agree, it is for the best," Elizabeth said, "provided Jane and Mr Bingley agree."

"I think another day of dealing with offended servants will be enough to reconcile them to your plan," Mr Bennet said.

Mrs Bennet shrugged. "Well, _I_ do not see why any of us have to take her. She is merely a foolish, wayward girl who deserves nothing."

"Oh, Mama!" Kitty cried, "how can you say so? It is Lydia we are helping, don't you see? _She_ is Lydia!" All eyes turned to her in surprise, but she was too agitated to notice.

"I beg your pardon? Lydia! What can you mean by that!"

"This was exactly Lydia's fate, if she had not had other people to intervene for her. Mr Wickham did not intend to marry Lydia, but would have left her behind when he could." Kitty forgot the presence of the others, in her eagerness to make the matter clear to her mother. "It is only because he was found and offered money that he agreed to the marriage. Aunt Gardiner told you this, and Lizzy told you, but you would not listen. It was only by the help of her family, and a great deal of luck, and of money, that Lydia was married. It could so easily have been _her_ sent away to some distant farm house, and made to give away her child, and to live in disgrace. Mama, how can you be so unfeeling to this girl? It is only money and connections that divide Rose Plaskitt from Lydia, and even that was very nearly not enough to save her."

Mrs Bennet was quite indignant. "How can you compare your sister to this young hussy? What has made you so superior and stuck up, Miss? You were Lydia's favourite sister, and the only one she confided in when she eloped with Mr Wickham. And now you can talk of her this way?"

"I know, Mama, but I didn't understand then how bad Lydia's situation was. She was happy, and trusted Mr Wickham, and believed all was well, and so I thought the same. But I was wrong, entirely wrong."

"I see very well. You no longer think well of Lydia, who used to be your favourite sister. You've become too good for her, I suppose. She is equal to a common inn girl, in your eyes!"

"I only meant, Mama, that their situation is the same - except that Lydia went with Mr Wickham freely and knowing what she did, while Rose Plaskitt, perhaps, did not."

"Oh, stuff! Why should you believe _her_ account of things? Would dear Wickham take advantage of a girl that way?"

"But just think, Mama...if Mr Wickham would run off with a lady, who had family connections and was the guest of his own colonel, and intend to abandon her, as he _did_ intend, then he would certainly not hesitate to sadly misuse an innkeeper's daughter. It was only Lydia's connections which made a difference in the final outcome - not her judgment or honour or good sense, for to be honest, she did not have much of these things when it came to young men; perhaps she was too young. And it is certain by now that _he_ did not have such qualities. Lydia was luckily saved from the worst effects of her own foolishness; and I cannot help but have pity on a poor girl who was not so fortunate."

Her mother was prepared to hotly dispute this, but Mr Darcy murmured solemnly, "Well said, my dear sister. Your sympathy does you credit," and Mrs Bennet felt herself compelled to hold her peace.

Two days' consideration was required for Mrs Bennet to ponder Kitty's revelations and finally begin to wonder if there had been anything less than joyous in her youngest daughter's wedding. She spoke to Elizabeth about it, one day when they were alone together. "Tell me, Lizzy...I know your aunt Gardiner spoke to you about Lydia's marriage, and what my brother observed. Did Mr Wickham truly have to be paid before he would agree to marry Lydia?"

"Yes, Mama. He had run away from Meryton in the first place in order to escape his debts."

"Well, of course he had to have his debts paid before he could enter into matrimony," Mrs Bennet suggested. "That is not so unreasonable."

"He required a good deal more, Mama. He had no intention of marrying Lydia at all, as Kitty said. He had to be bribed handsomely before he would agree to it."

"But I thought they were so in love! Why run off together if they were not?"

Elizabeth was not prepared to explain this in explicit detail. "There was an infatuation and an attraction between them, I am sure; and I suppose Lydia expected the elopement to end in marriage, although she was not so particular as to when that might be; but for Wickham it was never a serious attachment."

"He would really have left her behind?"

"That was his intention, I am afraid. He made it very clear to Uncle Gardiner."

Mrs Bennet thought a moment. "Well, it is fortunate that your uncle was able to prevail over him. At least they are married, that is the important thing. Gentlemen will sow their wild oats, but that doesn't mean they will not make good husbands in the end. He must come to love Lydia in time, if he does not already, for she is so merry, all gentlemen like her. I am sure all will be well."

"I hope so, Mama."

No more was said on the subject. Despite this moment of doubt, Mrs Bennet continued to regard her youngest daughter's marriage as happy, and in some ways as more auspicious than her other daughters', as being associated with such adventure and intrigue as rarely accompanies a courtship and wedding. Kitty noted her mother's unvarying opinion without quite understanding it, but she did come to comprehend that further argument was of no use. While she had never felt truly close to her mother, or truly well regarded by her, Kitty now perceived a greater distance between them than in the past; almost as great as the longstanding gulf between herself and her father.

Kitty made farewell visits to her aunt and uncle Phillips in Meryton, and to the Lucases, which saved her some trouble, for as both families were so sociable, any other friends she might have owed a visit were present at one or the other of the two homes, drinking tea or playing cards. On the day before their departure, Maria Lucas came to Longbourn to see her friend off, and to lend her an amber hair ornament which she asserted would charm all the beaux in Derbyshire. Her conversation over the past few weeks included frequent mention of a recent visitor to Lucas Lodge, a young gentleman and barrister burdened with the name of Alfred Sallow, very distantly related to Lady Catherine by way of a poor relation by marriage, who had made the Lucases' acquaintance during their last visit to Charlotte. The connection with Rosings, however distant and however unaccompanied by great wealth, seemed enough to impress Sir William into issuing an immediate invitation to Lucas Lodge. Mr Sallow's accepting the invitation without much delay was taken by Maria as a tribute to her own attractions, and an attachment between them was assumed by the family before the young man had time to experience it, much less express it. While Kitty saw Maria's hopes as decidedly premature, she obligingly expressed approval of Mr Sallow based on Maria's eager description of his appearance and manners, and wished her friend well.

"It is some time since anyone of our acquaintance became engaged," Kitty remarked.

"Yes, that is true," Maria agreed sadly. "It seems so difficult to find eligible young men. Somehow the neighbourhood does not have them, although there must be as many single men here as anywhere else."

"Perhaps we all know each other too well. They are the same men we have been standing up with at balls since we were fourteen or fifteen. We have become too familiar to each other."

"I had never thought of it that way! Perhaps it is a good thing that we go to Kent sometimes. And that _you_ will go to Derbyshire! There must be many young gentlemen there, and all new to you! I wish you very good luck, Kitty!'

She thanked Maria and wished her the same, but did not see Derbyshire as quite the paradise of bachelors Maria envisioned. Somehow the subject did not occupy so much of her mind as it once had. She remembered previous years, when she had attended assemblies with Lydia, and their endless, giggling fixation on every unmarried gentleman on the premises; the speculation, the seeking after attention, the endless, open flirtation with any man who would stand still for it. Her mind suddenly offered her a clear picture of what the two of them must have looked like to the other guests - what they might have looked like to her friend Georgiana, to Mr Darcy, to Mr Sutcliffe, even to her two eldest sisters - and for the first time she blushed for shame at her behaviour. What a bawdy spectacle they had made of themselves! Why had she not seen, at the time, how disgraceful she had been, how silly and immodest? Because she had not had better examples at hand, such as Georgiana Darcy? But no - she had had Jane and Lizzy, at least. Somehow Lydia's influence had overcome every other.

She wished she could go back in time, and change her past behaviour. At least, traveling to Derbyshire offered one advantage, beyond those Maria had mentioned: she was largely unknown there, and her reputation still to be established. It was one more reason to take pleasure at leaving home for a time. She gave Maria a warm goodbye, offered to lend her a lace in exchange for the amber trinket, and promised to write often.

When the time came for the Darcys to return to Derbyshire, Kitty accompanied them as planned, and Rose Plaskitt and her daughter traveled with the servants, by now properly dressed and wearing sturdy new boots provided by their benefactors. The Bingleys proposed to follow them in a week or two, in order to survey their prospective estate, and the four Bennets planned to complete the party and make a visit to Pemberley, this time one that included Mr Bennet.

"Are you planning to go through Kent to visit Charlotte again?" Kitty asked as they set off. They were traveling post this time, with herself and the Darcys in a two horse post chaise, while the servants, Rose and Agnes, and the considerable luggage followed in a four-horse coach.

"No, our visit to Hunsford on the way home was ample," Elizabeth said.

"Is she well? And her little boy?"

"They are all very well, and the baby is thriving." She smiled in amusement. "He is being made to wear a particular kind of gown with mittens, and trimmed with red ribbons to encourage natural masculine energy, according to instructions sent from Rosings."

Elizabeth's tone was enough to inform Kitty of her sister's opinion on the efficacy of red ribbons, and of the practice of giving commands to neighbours on their child's apparel. "I don't suppose _you_ went to Rosings during your visit?" she asked, glancing cautiously at Mr Darcy.

"No, we have had no communication with Lady Catherine, except what little is passed on by Mr Collins."

"I'm sorry. Well, not so _very_ sorry, for she was rude to you, Lizzy; but sorry that you disagree." This reminded her of another matter. "I want to apologize, Mr Darcy, for having quarreled with my mother while you were present. I should have waited until you were out of the room."

She thought he showed some signs of amusement, but he replied seriously enough. "There is no need to apologize, Miss Catherine. We are family, as your familiarity with my estrangement from my aunt attests."

"I can well understand your exasperation," Elizabeth said. "for I have felt it myself. She seems unwilling or unable to accept the truth about poor Lydia's situation."

"I do not understand her!" Kitty exclaimed. "Why can she not see what terrible danger Lydia put herself into? and how unlikely it is that she can remain happy? I did not see it myself for a long time, but now it is all too clear, and Mama is older and should understand much better than I do."

"She has a different way of seeing the world," Elizabeth ventured.

"It did no good to quarrel with her, in any case," Kitty said sadly. "She paid no attention to me at all."

"I think she did, a little. She asked me about it later. She still found a means to explain away any unpleasantness; but she did, at least, give some consideration to the matter, beyond her pleasure at seeing a daughter, somehow or other, married at a young age."

"It is wrong, I suppose," Kitty said pensively, "to be..." She broke off, remembering the presence of Mr Darcy.

"To be what, dear?" Elizabeth asked gently.

"To be...ashamed of one's own relations." She looked at Elizabeth, for whatever censure she was prepared to give.

To her surprise, Mr Darcy replied instead. "Nearly everyone has occasion to think ill of family members. As none of us can be without fault, neither can any of our relations. While I believe it is our duty to protect family from public derision, our private opinion of them is another matter."

"But even when we cannot help but disapprove in some way, it need not be expressed unkindly," Elizabeth added.

"Yes, I see that very well. You and Jane have always been kind to Mama; and to _me_, even though you were sometimes ashamed of me."

Elizabeth seemed startled, and hesitated before speaking. "When Lydia was at home, she often led you to be very wild and indiscreet, and I admit it caused us a great deal of distress; but since then, you have changed so much for the better, I can say that is all behind us."

Kitty became conscious, not sure what to say. "I...thank you, I did not know you saw it that way." It was an odd sensation, to realize that the changes she felt in herself had been perceived by others as well. She hastily turned back to the earlier topic. "I'm very happy you're taking poor Rose and her little girl back with you, even though Mama didn't want you to help her."

"As you said, it is, in a sense, like helping Lydia; and Mr Darcy particularly wanted us to offer assistance."

"There was a woman in Derbyshire, years ago," Mr Darcy unexpectedly added, "when I was perhaps fourteen or fifteen, who was in a similar predicament. I was not told of it directly, but it was talked of, and I could not help but hear the particulars. She had a child, also a daughter, and was determined to keep her child in spite of being cast out by her family. She worked where she could, but like Miss Plaskitt, found few places which would tolerate her, and she became destitute as well as despised. After years of misery, she found a childless family that would adopt her daughter. She relinquished the child, then went to the largest lake in the region and drowned herself. May God give her rest." Kitty stared at him, astonished as much by the restrained sorrow in his voice as by the shocking story. "It was this nameless woman I thought of when Rose Plaskitt presented herself. It struck me as significant that she appeared, coincidentally, during the short time we were present at Longbourn. I felt the responsibility was being given to me - to us - very clearly, and not only for the reason I provided, of Mr Wickham being connected with Pemberley."

"I'm very glad you regarded it as you did," Elizabeth said softly. They all fell silent for a time, and Kitty turned to watch the scenery through the carriage window.

Clouds had begun to appear in the sky soon after they stopped for midday tea, and after less than an hour's travel it became distinctly overcast, the summer sun completely obscured. "It looks like rain," Kitty remarked, quite unnecessarily.

They were able to continue for some time, faint rumblings of thunder audible in the distance and the sky gradually becoming darker, before the actual rainfall came, while they were in a remote length of road between towns. As the slight pattering of drops began to slowly increase, Mr Darcy tapped his stick against the carriage, and the chaise slowed to a halt, the servants' vehicle coming to a stop behind them. Mr Darcy looked out the carriage window. "Higgins," he called back to the footman who rode, standing, outside the carriage, "get inside. You too, Matthew," he added to a second servant, riding beside the coach driver, whose function Kitty did not know. The footman seemed to politely demur. "No, no, inside at once, man. They can make room for you. It's bad enough the drivers have to stay out in this weather. We'll stop at the next inn." The rain, at that moment, suddenly increased in volume. The two manservants gratefully scrambled to climb in out of the downpour. "Next post inn we come to," he repeated to the postilion driving the chaise, who tugged his dripping hat and drove on.

The rain continued to pour down, the horses plodding awkwardly on the muddy surface; shortly they reached a town large enough to contain a post inn, one that was somewhat shabby in appearance. The carriage slowed a little as they approached it, as if to ask approval, and Mr Darcy tapped twice on the carriage frame to signal for a stop. The two carriages turned and came to stand under the inn's crude wooden porte-cochère, where they were able to disembark largely protected from the rain. Mr Darcy approached the postilion, who was shaking water from his hat. "Shall we be able to continue later today, to you think?" He glanced at the coach driver, including him in the conference.

"Well...'appen _much_ later, Sir, and only if the rain stops soon," the driver said. "Roads dry quick enough in such warm weather. But not for some hours at least, 'an please ye, Sir." Kitty tilted her head, listening with interest to the unfamiliar accent, which garbled the words to her ear, although Mr Darcy seemed to have no difficulty understanding.

"It shows no sign of letting up at present."

The postilion gave his opinion. "It seems set to go on, Sir, for some time, and after such a drencher, the roads'll be filthy. We'd need to change horses oftener, Sir."

"Yes." Mr Darcy stared gloomily at the grey sky, then turned to his wife. "I had hoped to cover some distance today, but I think we must stay here and continue in the morning." He looked at Elizabeth. "If you don't mind, Mrs Darcy."

"Not at all." The servants nodded and turned to lead the horses around to the back.

"It is not, perhaps, the most comfortable lodgings we have ever stayed in," Mr Darcy said apologetically to his wife.

"It will do very well," Elizabeth said firmly. She led Kitty through the inn's front door, followed by Mr Darcy. Kitty could not help but notice how the inn's staff had come to attention at the sight of their party's arrival, two of them peering furtively through the windows at them. The multiple servants, the liveried footman and coachmen, the fine trunks and quietly elegant clothing, and above all, Mr Darcy's unstudied air of authority elicited immediate respect, or at least the expectation of handsome gratuities which produces an excellent simulation of respect. Kitty was moved to laugh at the excess of attention she, simply by being in the company of the Darcys, was given. "Even a cat following behind you would be bowed to here," she whispered to Elizabeth. She immediately felt the impudence of such a comment, but fortunately her sister saw the humour in their situation, and laughed merrily.

Mr Darcy ordered rooms for the night, as well as accommodations for his servants, and fresh horses for the morning. They were respectfully condoled with for the weather's interference with their travels, and were offered various amenities and the opportunity to play cards with other guests in the common room. After consulting the ladies' wishes, Mr Darcy refused them all. "However, I should like to ensure that my drivers' wet clothing is hung in an airing room to dry overnight. I do not want them traveling in damp clothes."

"It will be done at once, Sir," the innkeeper assured him. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Have our maid and valet come to our room when they are able. We'll come downstairs for dinner." Elizabeth met his eyes with a smile at this remark.

"Very good, Sir. It is usually at five o'clock, Sir, and I'll set a table aside for you, as it's a little crowded this time of year."

"Thank you." Mr Darcy dropped a coin into the man's hand, and the maid led them to their rooms.

Kitty was trying to arrange her windblown hair when a light knock sounded on the door, and Elizabeth's personal maid appeared, holding a pair of shoes in her hands. "Hello, Fraser."

"Hello, Miss. The Mistress asked me to offer help, and see about your shoes."

"My shoes?" Kitty looked down to see that her boots were very slightly muddy.

"Matthew can clean them up for you in a trice, Miss."

"Thank you." She removed them and handed them over. Fraser turned both pair over to the young man waiting in the corridor, then returned and expertly tidied Kitty's hair for her. "Fraser, who is Matthew? I don't remember him from my last visit."

"The gardener, Miss. He's my husband."

"Oh! Yes, I remember. I'm surprised at him coming along."

"He was with us on the voyage, Miss."

"The voyage?"

"Yes, Miss. The trip around Europe that the Master and Mistress just took."

"They brought their gardener?"

Fraser appeared to blush slightly. "Yes, Miss. They were good enough to ask him to come along, if he wished, and take care of odd jobs, carrying the boxes and the shoes and such. The Mistress said she didn't like to part a new-married couple for so long. Not many would take the trouble, but they are very kind to their servants."

"Yes, so I see."

"Mistress asked if you would join them in their quarters, Miss, next door, when you're ready." She curtseyed and left the room.


	25. Travellers

"O England, the Hell of Horses, the Purgatory of Servants and the Paradise of Women."  
><em>Dorothy Dunnett<em>

* * *

><p>Kitty found a pair of slippers in her trunk, left her room and knocked on the door of the chamber next to hers. Elizabeth let her in with a smile. "We had some cool drinks sent up," she said, offering Kitty a chair. "Fraser, is there any way to open the windows a little, without letting the rain in? It's very warm."<p>

The maid and valet opened the two windows a crack, admitting a cool breeze and the sound of heavy rainfall. Kitty took a seat beside the little table which held refreshments. "I hope they've given all of you decent lodgings, Wren," Mr Darcy said to his valet.

"Yes, Sir, quite acceptable, modest but clean; and the staff here seem well trained and intelligent."

"Praise indeed, Wren." The valet inclined his head gravely at the implied compliment, and withdrew.

"I suppose this is not the kind of inn you usually choose," Kitty remarked, wondering at his apparent worry.

"No, but the storm made it expedient to stop here. The rooms are perfectly adequate; but such places tend to put what money they have into guest rooms and common areas, and economize on servants' quarters. I expect they are lodged two or three to a bed."

"At least it's only for one night," Elizabeth said.

"What were the inns like in Europe?" Kitty asked.

"Much like here, but with small, unexpected differences according to region. In France, for instance, the servants are quite outspoken," she said, with a smile at her husband.

"A continuing result of the Revolution, I imagine," he said.

"I wonder why we never had such a revolution in England," Kitty mused.

The other two looked at each other. "Have you read much on the subject, Miss Catherine?" Mr Darcy asked.

"No, nothing at all. Is it interesting?"

He smiled. "It could be called so, but I should not recommend it. You might find it disturbing."

"Oh, very well. There is certainly a great deal of history I have yet to read, so I shall avoid that part."

"What do _you_ think is the reason there was no such event here?" Elizabeth asked her.

Kitty exclaimed that she had no way of knowing, but her sister urged her to give her opinion. She thought over her recent readings. "I think it is because our people were better treated."

"Really? You think the French Revolution could have been prevented by a little more even-handedness?"

"Well...I don't know, of course. I was thinking about the Peasants' Revolt. They - the peasants - were not asking to have everybody deposed or killed and to take over their property. They only asked for fairness and to not be forced to work without their agreement. They were given most of what they asked for, and then they left the king and everybody in peace, and made no more trouble. Maybe the French rebels would have done the same, if they had been given a chance."

"An interesting observation," Mr Darcy said. "However, the situation in France, and the attitude of the revolutionaries, may have been quite different."

"Oh, yes. I know nothing about that. But I had thought that, perhaps, people are much the same there as here. Most everyone here in England seems to respect the king and look up to people of higher classes. Look at how the inn people treat you and Lizzy. They do not resent your position, as long as you are tolerably kind to them, and tip them generously. And your servants admire you both, because you treat them well. They cannot say enough good things about you. I think it would take a great deal of unfairness and mistreatment to make them turn against you, much less against the king himself, as the French did. So it makes me wonder what caused such anger. But, as you say, perhaps the French are different."

"Perhaps," Mr Darcy agreed, looking bemused. "You make a perfectly valid argument, Miss Catherine, and it is one I have heard before, although differently expressed. I shall at least take your point about the proper treatment of one's subordinates as a cautionary tale."

Kitty protested that she had intended no such suggestion of danger, making Elizabeth laugh. She was not altogether sure Mr Darcy was not laughing at her, or at least indulging her for Elizabeth's sake, but could not decide for certain. The chambermaid came in at that moment, to inform them that dinner was served if they cared to come to the dining room, and they rose to go downstairs. Although the room was already quite crowded, the innkeeper noticed them immediately, and with many bows and expressions of courtesy, led them to a table large enough for six, in a secluded area of the room, close by a window. They were served their meal without delay, even while many guests who had arrived before them sat waiting. Kitty was aware of the glances from the other guests, less genteel than the patrons of inns at which they had stopped on their previous journeys, who recognized the Darcys as wealthy, and therefore important. It made her feel quite uncomfortable, but Elizabeth and Mr Darcy ignored it completely.

The meal was adequate, although bland and suffering from far too great a dependence on parsnips. They had just begun to eat when Kitty noticed an elderly couple wandering rather aimlessly through the room, apparently looking for a vacant table. One of the maids approached them. "We are quite full, Sir, Ma'am," she said. "I am afraid you will have to wait until one of the parties leave."

With a quick glance at his wife, Mr Darcy half rose and signaled the maid, who hurried over to them. "The lady and gentleman are quite welcome to sit with us," he told her. "The table is more than large enough. Would you be good enough to convey the message to them?" She seemed surprised, but spoke to the two strangers. Kitty saw Elizabeth catch her husband's eye and playfully pat her hands together beneath the tablecloth, as though in applause. He chuckled quietly but said nothing, rising politely as the old couple cautiously approached their table. "Good day, Sir, Madam. If you will forgive the informality under the circumstances, let me introduce myself. My name is Darcy; this is my wife; and my wife's sister, Miss Bennet."

"Collins," the man replied shortly. "My wife."

"Mrs Collins; Mr Collins," Mr Darcy bowed briefly to them. "Please join us, as it seems there are no tables free, and we have ample room here."

"Thank you, that is very obliging of you." They seated themselves, their reserve decreasing at Mr Darcy's cordial manner. "The inn seems to be quite overflowing. I suppose we must sometimes fall in with strangers in such circumstances."

"Precisely," Mr Darcy agreed. The old couple had their food brought directly, which Kitty took to be done in consideration of their present company. The conversation was easily moved along for some time by the necessity of identifying one another's home county.

"I have a cousin named William Collins, Sir, a clergyman who lives in Kent," Elizabeth said. "Are you by chance any relation to him?"

"I am not aware of any family living in Kent," he replied, "nor of any clergymen who are related to me. Most of my relations live in Cornwall." Mrs Collins noted that _she_ had a cousin who lived in Kent. As the person in question was not a Collins, but was known by her maiden name of Stubbs, the point was rather irrelevant to the discussion, but Elizabeth supplied questions until it came out that Mr Stubbs was an attorney, and she was able to add that she had an uncle who was also an attorney, causing Mrs Collins to exclaim over such a coincidence. The conversation was finally enlivened by Mr Collins' mention of his way of getting a living, which was by the construction and sale of carriages. Discussion of carriages will suffice in almost any company, and the remainder of the meal was happily spent with all of them naming their favourite form of transport, the kinds which they often found disappointing, describing unhappy situations deriving from some flaw in a specific carriage, providing their own ideas for the improvement of various types of carriages, and even, as the topic began to grow dry by their final course of fruit, cheese, and sweet wine, of possible ways in which the post system and other means of public conveyance might be rendered more efficient.

The Collinses left the table with renewed thanks, and the Darcys and Kitty finished their wine and left the dining hall to take a walk through the less than inviting grounds before retiring for the night. The rain had finally stopped, but too late to consider continuing their journey, and so they extended their stroll beyond the inn's property to the wet but relatively clean streets of the small town adjacent to it.

"Why were you so pleased with Mr Darcy for going to the dining room?" Kitty asked her sister as they walked, "and for inviting those people to eat with us?"

Elizabeth looked at her husband with a conscious smile, as if uncertain of whether she was free to answer this question. Mr Darcy answered on her behalf. "It has been my study for some time to become more comfortable with speaking to strangers, and entering into a social situation which is unfamiliar. In an inn such as this, my former practice would have been to have dinner brought to our room, but I chose to join the other guests in the public dining hall. Your sister was merely encouraging my efforts."

"I see. In fact, I seem to remember Lizzy telling me something of that." She frowned. "Why should it be so difficult for you to talk to strangers?"

"I could not say, but it has never come naturally to me."

"So you invited that old couple to sit with us, as practice?"

He hesitated. "I also wished to spare them the wait, as I had the means to do so. But it is true that, at one time, I would have avoided speaking to them. It did provide me with an opportunity to practice, whether or not that was the sole purpose of the exercise."

"Well, I believe it has helped. You seem to be much better at it now than when we first met."

"Thank you." Once again, Kitty could not be certain if he found her remarks funny, or perhaps impudent.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Not at all, my dear sister. I was only thinking how much I should like to one day see you meet with my aunt."

Elizabeth laughed at this, but would not explain, and instead spoke of other things, taking her husband's arm as they strolled past the limited array of shops, mostly closed for the day. When the conversation stilled for a few minutes, she remarked, "I had the opportunity to speak with young Agnes while she and her mother were at Netherfield."

"With the child?" Mr Darcy turned to her. "What did you discover?"

"Only that her mother did not exaggerate her good qualities out of fondness. The girl is quite intelligent and well spoken for her age. It made me wonder if we could offer help beyond providing Rose with shelter and employment."

"Arrange for her to be sent to school, do you mean?"

"Yes, if her mother would agree. A girl in her situation will require more advantages to balance her lowered expectations. A good educations would certainly go a long way toward mitigating her circumstances."

"I have no objections to offering help in this regard. You may bring up the subject to Miss Plaskitt when the chance presents itself, if you wish."

"Thank you. I shall, once they are settled somewhere."

They extended the walk as much as possible, to pass the time until it could be considered reasonable to retire for the night. Kitty asked further questions about Europe, enjoying the chance to hear more details than her parents had patience to listen to, and they continued the conversation at the inn over a final drink. They all went to bed early, and were awake to take breakfast as soon as it was available, before most of the guests had come downstairs.

"You will not have a chance to practice this morning," Kitty pointed out to her brother in law, looking around at the nearly empty room.

"No, but opportunities continually present themselves, especially while traveling."

"I suppose so," she agreed.

"If you do not mind my inquiring, did you never have any difficulty in conversing with unfamiliar people?"

She thought. "Not since I was little. I only had trouble conversing intelligently; and that is a _much_ harder thing to learn!" Elizabeth laughed with her. Mr Darcy, she had noticed, rarely laughed or even smiled except among close friends. She wondered what had made him so very reserved, or whether it was merely his nature to be so.

The carriages were called for when the sun had barely risen. Out of curiosity, Kitty wandered toward the back of the inn, to watch the post horses being led out of their stables, which were, as in many such inns, beneath the ground to save space and expense. The animals blinked and shook their heads nervously as they were brought out into the light and air, but stood patiently as they were harnessed to their assigned carriages. It made her a little sad to see them closed into such a dark place, with no opportunity to enjoy the sun and air and to run about in the grass as they would like, probably for the whole course of their lives. She returned to the front entrance just as the chaise was driven up, paused to pat the two horses harnessed to it before climbing into her seat, and they set off over the largely dry roads, the scent of rain-soaked grass and damp earth in the air.

The remainder of the trip was unmarred by bad weather, and by changing horses frequently they managed to drive through most of the daylight hours with only a single pause for a meal at midday, and to stop at an inn of their choosing. The journey was like her last one to Derbyshire, except that they followed a slightly different route, and thus passed scenery and sites of interest that Kitty had not seen before.

The subject of Rose Plaskitt and her daughter came up as they entered Derbyshire. "What do we do with them once we arrive?" Elizabeth asked. "If we don't want Georgiana to know of them immediately, it would be best if they do not stay at the house. But where should we put them?"

"I've been thinking of that," Mr Darcy replied. "I'm sure we could find the young woman some suitable work on the property for now; but her daughter would have to be cared for somewhere during the day."

Kitty hesitantly began, "Perhaps..." Her sister turned to her inquiringly. "What if you asked that lady, the one who paints pictures, to take care of Agnes?"

"Margaret Chamberlain?"

"Yes, that's right. She works in her home, and she is already caring for one little girl, so one more may not trouble her so much. They could play together. And besides, well...because of her situation, she might not mind that Agnes is..."

"Of course! That seems like a very sensible solution. Do you not think so, Will?"

"I do. It seems an ideal arrangement, provided Miss Chamberlain has no objections. We can offer her some recompense for her trouble."

"Excellent. Thank you, Kitty!"

"That leaves the question of where a position is to be found for Miss Plaskitt. It need not be permanent, but it should include a residence of some description."

They discussed the matter between them for some time, but finally set it aside as the Darcy property came into view.

The arrival at Pemberley was a happy one, for two of the party felt the pleasure of returning home, while the third felt herself to be arriving at a place as comfortable as her real home, if not more so. Elizabeth sat up in the carriage as they turned down the final approach to Pemberley, hoping to catch an early glimpse of the house. "It is wonderful to be home!" she exclaimed.

"Your travels did not make you long to remain in more fascinating and exotic locations? In Paris, or in Rome?" Mr Darcy asked with a smile.

"No, indeed. I enjoyed every minute of our journey, and value the experience highly, but it makes the pleasure of returning home all the greater."

As they were returning from such a long absence, the welcome was more marked than usual. Georgiana ran outside to meet them, greeting her brother warmly but with the slight constraint her respect always imposed on their exchanges; embracing Elizabeth with some deference but more open affection; and throwing her arms around Kitty with no reserve at all. The domestic scene was perfected when several dogs trotted over to view the newcomers, and little Folly, somehow alerted to her mistress' presence, bolted around the corner of the house to dash around Elizabeth's ankles and roll at her feet in ecstasy at their reunion. They entered to be welcomed by both the housekeeper and the butler before Kitty was shown to her room, Georgiana urging her to return and take tea as soon as she was ready. As she ascended the stairs, she saw Elizabeth take Mrs Reynolds to one side and converse with her quickly in whispers, and assumed the accommodation of two additional people, strangers with the status of neither servants nor guests, had been arranged.

Kitty removed the dust of the road and tidied her hair before walking back downstairs, to find the others in Elizabeth's favourite drawing room. Georgiana was pouring tea, while the Darcys consulted with both Mrs Reynolds and Mr Spooner on the changes to the property and staff since their departure, and any immediate concerns. As the estate was in capable hands, there was, as usual, nothing urgent to be attended to. The stable master wished approval for the purchase of a new carriage horse and to arrange for the breeding of one of the mares. It appeared, also, that the gatekeeper, Mr Munt, was having some difficulty, for his wife was ill once again and barely able to walk, and could not prepare food or do her usual household chores. Elizabeth put her hand on her husband's arm at that point, catching his eye, and he seemed to immediately take her meaning, for he told Mrs Reynolds that the matter would be taken care of.

After a lengthy reunion, Mr Darcy urged Georgiana to take Kitty for a walk and let her see how the gardens looked, while he and Elizabeth dealt with some minor matters on the estate, and meet again at dinner. They two younger ladies obligingly put on their bonnets and went out, allowing Georgiana to expand upon the events of recent days, and Kitty to do the same, omitting what might be considered the most interesting incident. They walked at a leisurely pace as they talked, and the beauty of the surrounding parkland struck Kitty more forcefully than it had done before. "Pemberley is even more lovely than I remember it!" she exclaimed. "No wonder you missed it when you were away."

Georgiana looked around her with an air of satisfaction. "Yes, I love it here, and I'm happy to be back. I'm glad we spend so little time in town now. We used to be in London most of the year, but now we stay here except for the coldest part of the winter."

"Why did it change?"

She smiled. "My brother always seemed a little restless when we were at Pemberley, and preferred to be in town much of the time. Since he married, he seems content to remain here. And I know Elizabeth loves it here too."

The prospect of the Bingleys soon being their neighbours delighted Georgiana. "They will be staying at Pemberley while they investigate their house; and I think Mr Bingley's sisters may visit as well. And your family are coming to stay with us again," she added with a smile, "your father as well, this time. We shall have quite a house-full!"

When they returned to the house, Elizabeth and Mr Darcy were still out, and they did not return for some time. Georgiana urged Kitty to sit with her at the piano and join her in singing while she played, and in the absence of an audience, she agreed. Confident that her own voice was largely drowned out by Georgiana's, she enjoyed singing the simple and familiar songs her friend chose, and only stopped when the sound of a closing door announced the Darcys' return. Elizabeth encouraged them to continue, but Kitty was spared by a footman entering to announce that dinner was served.

At the table, Georgiana's travels were further discussed and compared with the journey across Europe. She had visited several distant relations whom she seldom saw, including the family of her guardian Colonel Fitzwilliam, and stayed with the Hursts for a week. She had also been at Rosings for a short time, but did not refer to that visit in Elizabeth's presence. There had been balls, parties, and excursions to the theatre and to the seaside, but most of her talk was of how happy she was to be at home. Kitty laughed at how easily pleased her friend was. "Yes," Elizabeth agreed, with a look of affection at her sister in law, "I think there are few young ladies who are more content with simple, domestic pleasures, and less inclined to seek novelty, than Georgiana."

"My travels were very enjoyable," Georgiana belatedly protested, "and I'm obliged to you both for arranging them. But I am always happy to come back to Pemberley."

"And to escape the demands of discourse with such continually changing company," Mr Darcy hinted with a smile.

Georgiana blushed. "Sometimes that was trying, particularly at Whitcombe Hall," referring to the estate of Colonel Fitzwilliam's family, "for there they expect everyone to join in the conversation, especially during dinner."

"I am sorry it is so disagreeable, but it is useful practice for you," Kitty pointed out. "as your brother's good example will show." Georgiana seemed not to understand this reference, and Elizabeth quickly put in, "You will have almost as much practice of this kind at home as away, for we will soon have a great many guests in the house at one time."

"I was just saying so to Kitty."

"Perhaps we should give a ball," Mr Darcy suggested.

This idea was met with earnest approval by two of the ladies, and even his sister had reached the point where she could look forward to a ball with more pleasure than apprehension, a clear demonstration of the benefits of expanding her social circle, arduous though such experiences could be.


	26. Kingswood

_"There is no friend like an old friend who has shared our morning days, no greeting like his welcome, no homage like his praise."_  
><em>Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.<em>

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><p>Kitty took great pleasure in returning to the familiar activities she had shared with Georgiana and Elizabeth during her previous visits. She rode often, her usual pony set aside for her as before; and walked still more often, by now so accustomed to lengthy rambles that it was no longer strenuous for her, taking in parts of the substantial grounds she had not yet seen and returning frequently to walks that had become her favourites. She accompanied her sister on some of her estate visits, and was able to discover that Rose Plaskitt had, as she had suspected, been engaged to act as nurse and assistant to the bedridden Mrs Munt in exchange for a modest wage, and to live at the gatekeeper's cottage while performing this service. Kitty's suggestion was taken, and little Agnes stayed with Miss Chamberlain during the day, and enjoyed the opportunity to play with another child; and at night was taken back to sleep in her mother's room at the cottage. The arrangement seemed to please everyone, and had the additional advantage of keeping Rose and Agnes out of Georgiana's path.<p>

Soon after her arrival, Kitty was invited to come to the gallery and see the new painting of her sister, which had been installed there, close by the portrait of Mr Darcy which had been done a few years previously. The two canvases were of the same dimensions and were framed similarly, so that they looked as if they belonged side by side, just as they had been placed. Kitty gazed up at the painting, which showed Elizabeth seated in semi-profile but with her head turned to face the onlooker, holding a book, from which she seemed to have just looked up. "So lovely!" she exclaimed. "And such a perfect likeness! I am astonished that artists can capture a person's appearance so exactly!"

"I am glad you approve," Elizabeth said. "Mr Darcy was very pleased with it." She smiled at her husband.

"Naturally," he said calmly. "How should I not be? It is, as your sister says, an exact likeness."

Kitty continued to study the portrait. "Not only in appearance, either. Somehow the painter has captured Lizzy's character. She is quite serious, but looks as if she were secretly amused by something, and could laugh at any moment."

"That is exactly what I thought," Georgiana said quietly. "But did you notice, Kitty, that there is a second subject whose image is included?"

"A second?" Kitty examined the painting carefully. "No, I see no one else."

Georgiana pointed to the painting, indicating the place where the artist had represented the chair Elizabeth was seated upon. Just beside it, half hidden behind Elizabeth's skirts, was a little spaniel, looking up at the subject. "Oh! Is that your dog, Folly?"

Elizabeth laughed. "Yes! When Mr Lawrence said he wished to include a dog in the painting, I insisted he use Folly as his model. He has captured _her_ character perfectly as well, do you not think?"

"Yes! But why did he want to include a dog?"

Mr Darcy replied, "It is a common device in portraits, to include items which carry the desired symbolism. A dog represents both loyalty and domestic felicity. What better image," he said, with the faintest trace of humour, "for a portrait of a recently married woman?"

"What better, indeed!" Elizabeth said. "Mr Darcy's portrait, however, shows no faithful dog; only a sword, drawn from its scabbard and leaning against the wall beside him, ready for use. A far less tranquil image."

Mr Darcy only smiled. "It is best not to regard these details in too literal a manner."

"But where _is_ Folly?" Kitty asked. "I have not seen her at all since we arrived. She used to follow you everywhere, Lizzy."

"She is keeping to the stables in recent days, for we expect her to become a mother at any time."

Kitty expressed pleasure at this news; then, as the others turned to leave, asked to remain in the gallery for some time, to better acquaint herself with the artwork which she had only viewed in passing before.

The usual daily pleasures of a stay at Pemberley were slightly disrupted after only a few days, for additional guests began to arrive. Mr Sutcliffe, having heard of the Darcys' return, had written to welcome them and was invited to Pemberley at once. He arrived on a Monday, bearing a gift of berries from his own garden and two books he had previously borrowed from the Pemberley library. He warmly greeted family and guests, and they gathered in the large drawing room to chat.

"I hope you enjoyed your time on the Continent, Mrs Darcy," he said, smiling. "It was new to you, I understand?"

"Completely new, and quite fascinating. My mind became too full of sights, sounds, and information to comprehend at once. I shall have to take several months to recollect it all bit by bit."

"Clearly you have gained a great deal from your travels. And you, Darcy? Was this journey as enjoyable as your first?" he asked, smiling mischievously.

"Far more so," Mr Darcy answered calmly.

"Do you regret not having gone earlier, and taken this as your wedding journey?"

"Not in the least. I was able to travel with my wife after we had lived together and become accustomed to one another, which made the experience of travel far more comfortable. And my greater understanding of her tastes and opinions added still more to the adventure. I was able to repeat the tour I took as a younger man, and this time share with my wife what I had previously seen, and enjoy her own impressions at the same time. The trip was happy and highly satisfying."

"For me, also," Elizabeth added.

"I am delighted to hear it."

"Have you never been through Europe, Mr Sutcliffe?" Elizabeth asked him.

"I have been as far as France, where I travelled years ago with my family, but no farther. I hope to make a more ambitious journey one day, when circumstances allow."

The conversation turned to Mr Sutcliffe's situation, and while nothing of great consequence had taken place since he was last at Pemberley, his descriptions of the trivial events within his parish soon had them all laughing.

A day or two later, the Bingleys came into Derbyshire as expected, briefly examined the house and land they were considering, and were tentatively enchanted with it. Mr Bingley was hesitant to depend upon his own wits to make such a momentous decision, and his wife reluctant to force her views on him, and so Mr Darcy's opinion was sought. Aware that his wife was amused by Mr Bingley's dependence upon his approval, Mr Darcy demurred, and suggested that Pemberley's steward, Mr Pinfield, might be a better authority to consult. This led Mr Bingley to suggest that both men together would be more useful than either one or the other; at which point courtesy prompted him to include Elizabeth in the invitation as equally capable of judging the suitability of the house, and then to add that the other ladies were also welcome to join them and give their impressions. As a result, the matter ended with the entire family, guests, and the steward making the trip together, in a caravan of multiple carriages. Only little Alice, newly weaned onto milk pap and therefore allowed on occasion to be out of her mother's sight, was left behind in the care of Nurse Wilby. Kitty found herself riding in the last conveyance in the sequence, Mr Sutcliffe's chaise, which was wide enough to allow Georgiana and herself to be seated on either side of Mr Sutcliffe, who took the centre seat in order to drive. This permitted the young ladies an easy view of the passing landscape, which pleased them both.

The estate, named Kingswood for unknown reasons, was some two hours from Pemberley. Mr Bingley cheerfully observed that the journey back and forth gave them the opportunity to become familiar with the post stations between Pemberley and his prospective home. The weather, fortunately, was fine, and the way there attractive to the eye, so nobody found the excursion a great imposition. Mr Bingley stopped his carriage at one point, to indicate the boundary of his proposed estate, and the travellers left their carriages to look and exclaim, for the land was not only vast but picturesque, and could be seen to include a stream interrupted by ponds which could easily be deemed small lakes by the generous observer. The house could be seen at a distance, and so they continued at a quicker rate to its front door, everyone studying the landscape with keener interest now that they knew it to be the possible future home of an acquaintance.

A winding, well kept drive led to the front of the house, which was a handsome, spacious structure, built in the style of a century earlier but simplified and less ornate. Kitty found it a charming house, at once stately and welcoming. A portly man opened the door to them, identifying himself as the current owner's solicitor, greeted Mr and Mrs Bingley and declared his pleasure at their returning to view the house a second time, and invited them all to examine the interior and grounds at their leisure. They all took him at his word, and were soon as widely dispersed through the building as eight people can be. Kitty and Georgiana explored together. "It's strange, is it not, to see the house so empty and unused?" Kitty remarked, for the furniture had been entirely removed, the floors bare of carpets, the windows stripped of their draperies, even the books removed from the shelves in the library.

"Yes. I wonder why they did not at least leave the carpets behind. What can they have done with them?"

"Sold them, I should guess," came the voice of Mr Sutcliffe from behind them, where he stood in the doorway. "Excuse my interruption," he added with a bow, entering the room.

"Sold them? But why take such trouble, when the house is being sold in any case?" Kitty asked.

"It suggests to me that the family has become insolvent, and in need of immediate funds. Selling the furnishings would provide money until the estate itself is sold."

"Oh! Yes, that might well be. Imagine a family owning such a property, and yet becoming poor! Do you think the estate does not earn a very good income after all? Mr Bingley and Jane would want to know that."

"I am sure they will take care to look into the question; and if they do not, Mr Darcy will suggest it to them."

She nodded, and a thought suddenly came to her. "I had forgotten until now, Mr Sutcliffe - I want to thank you for sending the history books to my father. I enjoyed them very much, and began reading more history when I had finished them."

"I am glad they had such an effect. Your father did not object to my sending them?"

"No; he was only rather surprised, for I had not read much history before that."

"And what were your impressions of the Peasants' Revolt?"

She found herself talking of the subject at some length, at ease, as always, with speaking openly to Mr Sutcliffe. His questions and remarks added interest and extended the discussion for some time, and she even described her brief talk with the Darcys on the French Revolution and its parallel to the English revolt.

"You sympathize with the rebels," he observed, "more than the author of your book did, in fact."

"Yes, I could understand how they might feel. Their behaviour was often unruly and wrong, but they only wanted fairness and justice. I thought of them one day..."

She broke off, a little embarrassed to find herself sharing a wayward idea she had so far spoken of to no one, but he urged her to continue.

"I was watching the post horses being taken from their stables, at an inn on the way to Derbyshire. It was one of those stables that are placed under the ground - you have seen them?" He nodded. "The poor horses are kept in the earth, in the dark, and never have the chance to run about and roll in the grass, as their nature intended. They only come out into the open air to work, and then are buried again." He nodded again, frowning in confusion at what connection this might have to a medieval rebellion. "It caused an idea to come into my head - a very silly one," she warned, blushing. "I pictured a Horses' Revolt, in which all the mistreated horses gathered into a herd that went on for many miles, running across the country and gathering more horses wherever they went; and they ran together and accosted the king, demanding to be treated kindly, never given more weight to pull than they can manage, kept only in stables above the ground in the light and air, and permitted to run in a meadow and crop grass every Sunday and for a half day during the week. In return, they would go back to being our loyal servants and pull carriages without a complaint. And to mark the granting of their demands, all horse-whips were to be destroyed in a great bonfire outside the Palace, around which all the coach-horses would dance in celebration."

She looked up at Mr Sutcliffe with some apprehension as she concluded, unsure of whether he would find her fantasy ridiculous, but was quickly reassured; for while he laughed heartily, he also praised her idea with unmistakable sincerity, and declared he enjoyed the image of insurgent horses tremendously. "I shall never again be able to see a post horse," he told her, "without imagining all the horses of England, dancing in triumph around a bonfire of whips! And I admit, I have often felt a similar sympathy for the poor beasts, for none of God's creatures deserve such mistreatment, especially when they work so diligently for us."

"I agree," she said, "and if I should ever own horses, I should treat them well, and tell all my friends to do the same. The horses at Pemberley are well cared for, I am happy to see, and I daresay your Blossom and Gypsy receive nothing but kindness."

"I think I may safely say they do," he agreed. "I do not even own a whip to add to the conflagration, and they may run free in the grass every day the weather permits; so my pair may serve as an example to urge the other horses to recognize their own mistreatment and rebel against it, when the Magna Carta of horses is finally written."

She laughed along with him; then suddenly became aware that they were alone in the room. "What has become of Georgiana?" she asked, looking around.

"I am afraid we may have excluded her from the conversation," he said a little consciously. "Perhaps we should find her, and continue our examination of the house." He hastily turned to follow his own suggestion.

Georgiana was found no farther away than the adjoining room, which appeared to have been the library, where she was gazing up at the carved oaken cornices along the top of the bookshelves. "The family must have had a wonderful collection of books," she observed as Kitty approached her. "What a shame if they all had to be sold!"

"Mr Bingley might well have bought the books along with the house, or at any rate some of them, if they had been offered," Kitty said, "for Netherfield has a very small library, and he might have liked to expand it."

"Mr Sutcliffe may be correct," Georgiana said sadly. "They must have been in urgent need of money."

"I have known profligate spending to place even wealthy estate owners in difficult circumstances," Mr Sutcliffe observed.

"I hope that is not the reason!" Georgiana murmured.

Mr Sutcliffe studied the empty shelves. "You are quite right, Miss Darcy. It is a shame to see a great library, perhaps many years in the making, sold off. I should hate being obligated to sell my books. But at least the books, once sold, will go to enrich other libraries, and are not actually lost."

"Would it be rude to suggest that Mr Bingley ask about the books?" Kitty asked. "He may want to buy some of them for his new home, whether it turns out to be here or elsewhere."

"I think it would be acceptable. If you like, I will hint to him that he might ask the solicitor about them. Solicitors are wonderful as go-betweens, who can receive information and questions which might be impudent if spoken directly to the relevant person, but are acceptable if passed along through the mitigating channel of a solicitor."

"That is useful to know, Mr Sutcliffe. Yes, please mention it to Mr Bingley, if you don't mind."

They wandered together through the house, praising its dimensions and admiring the view from the windows, until they met with Jane in the breakfast room. "What a lovely house, Jane!" Kitty exclaimed. "I do hope Mr Bingley agrees to take it."

"I hope so; but I should not like to say more until I have spoken with him. He may find it unsuitable, and on such a decision we must be in complete agreement." They went in search of Mr Bingley, and found him descending the stairs, having completed his chosen task of counting the bedrooms and looking up the chimneys. The rest of the party were eventually gathered in a large drawing room, and their opinions requested.

Mr Darcy and his steward gave the Bingleys great optimism by pronouncing the place sound, well made, and an excellent bargain. The ladies agreed, although taking note of far more aesthetic details. Mr Sutcliffe tactfully questioned the reasons for the sale, and whether it might be related to the estate's income. Mr Bingley's attitude immediate changed from satisfaction to alarm, but Mr Darcy reassured him, and the steward agreed to conduct inquiries before any formal offer to purchase was made. Mr Bingley, whose preference would have been to buy the house on the spot, and if possible to move in the following day, was a little frustrated at having to await these investigations, but his wife calmed him, pointing out the folly of making so momentous and permanent a decision without due care, and he agreed to bide his time.

A walk on the Kingswood grounds confirmed their initial impression of a pleasant, tolerably well kept parkland and enviable natural attributes. The solicitor confirmed the acreage of the estate and promised to have its records for recent years sent on, and the party took their leave and drove back to Pemberley, arriving in time for dinner.

The following afternoon, the Bennets made their appearance, exchanged the appropriate greetings, were assigned bedrooms, and became part of the household. Mr Bennet, not having been at Pemberley before, was taken by Elizabeth on a tour of the house, which ended the moment he came to the library. He went no farther, but spent the rest of the day studying the shelves and examining the volumes contained there, murmuring, "Splendid...splendid!" to himself, utterly absorbed, until he was called for dinner. His perusal of the library did, at least, give him a great deal to talk about with Mr Darcy at table, which was of interest to both and did not call forth Mr Bennet's sarcastic tendencies. Mary returned to the daily schedule of study and musical practice which she had established during her previous visit, although she gladly joined the others in regular walks, and excursions on "her" little riding pony, and joined the other guests in the sitting room after dinner, although often with a book in her hands. Mrs Bennet, having several daughters to talk with, good food and drink at hand, and a fine house to look at, was content with very little else in the way of entertainment.

The Bingleys spent a good deal of time worrying over the information on Kingswood. While it all looked very promising, Mr Bingley was unwilling to make an absolute decision without support from a source he could rely upon, and at last Mr Darcy stepped in, conducted his own investigations, and asked leave to present his findings to the Bingleys. Such a request was granted with some relief. Mr Darcy and his steward presented their views on the estate, and assured the prospective owners that the place was well situated, its farmland productive, its ownership documents in order, and its expectations as a source of income excellent. "With good management, Kingswood should bring in up to three thousand per annum," the steward concluded.

"But what will it do with poor management?" Mr Bingley asked with a laugh, "for that is more to be expected, should I buy the place!"

"You should obtain a good steward before anything else, Bingley," Mr Darcy told him. "Such a person is indispensable for an estate of this magnitude." As Mr Bingley looked somewhat at a loss, he added, "Mr Pinfield may be able to find a suitable candidate for the position."

"Certainly, Sir," his steward replied, "I can think of a name or two immediately, in fact."

"There you are, Bingley," Mr Darcy said. "All can be taken care of."

Mr Bingley nodded, still looking somewhat overwhelmed by the information he was receiving, and the dread of making a bad decision. "And did you discover the reason for the sale?"

Mr Darcy nodded. "It was similar to what was suggested. The owner died unexpectedly, leaving behind massive debts, and his children chose to sell the estate and live more modestly while they paid off what was owed and tried to gradually restore their fortune. It was not the fault of the estate that they found themselves in such straits," he hastily added, for Mr Bingley had begun to look concerned, "but a series of substantial and very foolish investments combined with profligate spending over many years. I can say with confidence that your way of life would have to become more extravagant by a tremendous degree before you would have any cause for concern." Mr Pinfield endorsed this statement, and Mr Bingley began to relax at last.

"And the price, you find it reasonable?"

"Quite reasonable, Sir," Mr Pinfield told him.

Mr Bingley turned to Jane. "Are you satisfied, Mrs Bingley?"

"Perfectly so. I believe the property has been examined as thoroughly as anyone could wish. Thank you, Mr Darcy, for all your help; and you, Mr Pinfield."

"Oh! Yes, many thanks," Mr Bingley hastily added. "I should not have been able to come to a decision, if not for you."

"And _have_ you made a decision?" his friend asked.

"Yes, I believe so." He looked at Jane again, and seemed to find encouragement. "I shall make an offer immediately."

The party responded with hearty congratulations, as much relieved at having Mr Bingley's perpetual state of doubt and dread ended, as pleased at the acquisition of a family estate. The place was described in detail for the benefit of the newer arrivals, and Mr Bingley's worries were transferred to the danger of having another party purchase the land before he could complete the transaction; although he was easily convinced that the possibility was remote. Mr Darcy offered to send for his own attorney to oversee the sale, and Mr Bingley sat down to write to the solicitor who was managing the matter, to request a meeting at his earliest opportunity; and in his enthusiasm, wrote a brief letter to his sisters to inform them of the impending change.

The estate occupied a good deal of their conversation, along with the need to quickly obtain a new housekeeper and several other servants, most of the Netherfield servants having chosen to remain where they were; but when nothing new could be said until the sale itself had been completed, other subjects were introduced. Jane politely brought up the concerns and recent activities of her family, and finally mentioned Mary's work at home. "She was not able to come to Derbyshire earlier, when Kitty did, because she was needed at her school until recently. In fact, it seems she has become quite indispensable, and has done a great deal of good among the poor of the parish, assisting with both their physical needs and the improvement of their minds."

Mr Sutcliffe turned to Mary with apparent interest. "What sort of work is it? What is this school your sister mentions?"

Such a question was a welcome invitation to Mary, and she eagerly described the Welbore Ellis School, its inception, the building itself, its pupils, its curriculum, and its slow and difficult development. She mentioned also the efforts to provide necessities to the truly indigent of the parish, and her part in them, before returning again to the school, noting the slight, and possibly imaginary, increase in female literacy among local residents since the school had opened. She even allowed herself to expand on the hopes she, Rev Swanscott, and Mrs Swanscott had for the expansion of these facilities, and the idea of one day making Welbore Ellis a residential school, providing an education for orphans, abandoned offspring, and children of the destitute. The place of money in these plans was mentioned only discreetly and in passing, but was clearly the deciding factor in any of these plans.

Mr Sutcliffe listened in silence, then asked several questions which demonstrated he had paid close attention. "This work must take a great deal of your time," he finally observed.

"I am at the school five days out of the week, and help to collect and deliver goods to needy households twice in most weeks. I also do what I can to solicit funds for both services, which can take a great deal of time with little result."

"I admire your dedication," he said soberly. "One can hardly imagine how different life would be if everyone took such trouble for their neighbours."

"Thank you," Mary replied, quite obviously gratified by the praise. "It is a source of great satisfaction to fulfill one's Christian duty."

"I'm sure it is. Have the less fortunate families been receptive to your charity?"

Mary hesitated thoughtfully. "That was a particular difficulty, at first. There seemed to be much resistance to my offerings, even resentment, although the donations were obviously needed and were made with the sanction of our clergyman. However, I have managed to rectify that problem."

"Have you indeed? May I ask how?"

"I found greater success not by altering any key elements of the transaction, but by changing my manner of offering assistance. I have noticed that my sister Elizabeth, for example, had great success in approaching residents of this estate who were in reduced circumstances. I had once believed this acceptance to stem from her being mistress of the house upon which they were dependent; but I found a similar response when my younger sister, Catherine, accompanied me on my parish visits. I therefore made a study of the differences between my own manner and theirs, and by adjusting my form of speech and observing certain courtesies when providing needed assistance, I experienced a great change in the reaction of the unfortunate families. They came to accept my donations without any sign of resentment."

Mr Sutcliffe congratulated Mary on the success of her efforts, and on her unflagging energy. "I find the little I do in my own parish to be sometimes taxing."

"It can be so," Mary agreed. "Most disagreeable of all is the lack of proper appreciation on the part of many recipients, oddly enough a failing common among some of the most desperately poor. I have thought of trying to advise some of them that a more humble and grateful demeanour would be more fitting to their circumstances, but Mrs Swanscott felt that it would be inappropriate."

"Poverty does not, in general, produce people who are either pleasing or gracious, I regret to observe. That is a burden their benefactors must endure. It is the wealthy who are typically, and rather inconveniently, the most agreeable recipients of largesse."

Kitty bent over her work to hide a smile, but looked up in time to see Mr Sutcliffe glance at her, aware of her amusement.

"I suppose ingratitude must be seen as one of the unfortunate effects of material hardship," Mary agreed, "but it does make such individuals unpleasant to deal with. It seems as if you have managed to overcome your distaste. May I ask by what method?"

"I don't suppose I have a method, as such," Mr Sutcliffe said with a shrug, "except to remind myself that poor men and women are the children of God, and therefore my own brothers and sisters, like me in every way, except that they carry a heavier burden. It seems to diminish my impatience with them."

Mary made some reply which included quotations from a book of sermons she had once read; but Kitty did not take in her words. Her eyes went to Mr Sutcliffe, moved by his words, and more so by the unassuming manner with which he spoke. She seemed to see his character revealed more clearly than before. She had rarely met a person so intelligent and informed and yet so unpretentious; so given to good humour and mirth, and yet possessed of such sensibility and kindness. Her sister Elizabeth came to mind as someone with a similar happy mixture of attributes; and yet the example was not sufficient, for Mr Sutcliffe seemed to have other qualities which Elizabeth did not possess, qualities which Kitty felt but was not quite able to name. She realized that she was staring at Mr Sutcliffe as she pondered, and quickly lowered her eyes to her sewing.


	27. A Degree of Incivility

_"But if you have any learning, keep it a profound secret especially from the men, who generally look with a jealous and malignant eye on a woman of great parts and a cultivated understanding."_  
><em>Fordyce's Sermons to Young Women<em>

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><p>As some had expected, the news of Mr Bingley's impending purchase of a country estate inspired his sisters to seek out their brother's company. Mrs Hurst wrote to Elizabeth immediately to suggest a visit, and two days later Miss Bingley and Mr and Mrs Hurst arrived together at Pemberley. This made ten guests in all - or eleven, if Alice Bingley were to be included - and additional servants to accommodate. Kitty wondered if this would overtax the house's capabilities, as it would certainly have created a difficulty at Longbourn, and she even whispered an inquiry to Elizabeth about her concerns; but it seemed Pemberley had adequate space for not only these guests, but many more as well. This was fortunate, as the following day a new guest arrived to welcome the Darcys back from their time abroad: Colonel Fitzwilliam, whose name Kitty recognized as that of Georgiana's relation and guardian.<p>

Kitty found the colonel agreeable enough: not a truly handsome man, but with a pleasant countenance; courteous and well bred with a forthright but amiable manner. He was happy to make the acquaintance of the few unfamiliar members of the party, and to talk about whatever subject interested his present companion. He did spend much time speaking with Georgiana, and asked her to play and sing after dinner, when the guests were gathered in the drawing room. Kitty took this as a matter of fulfilling some of his obligations as legal guardian, although she thought he held a brotherly regard for her as well.

Kitty, sitting with her work in the evening, amused herself by observing the newly arrived gentleman's interactions with the other guests, and trying to discern what degree of acquaintance they had, and whether or not they liked one another. With Mr Darcy, he seemed to share a mild familial affection, that was more often expressed in teasing banter than in open friendliness.

Miss Bingley took pains to agree with Colonel Fitzwilliam's praise of Georgiana's playing, and attempted to engage him in conversation about music. She led the conversation by stages to his family, in particular his elder brother, who was installed at the estate he, as eldest, was to inherit. On hearing this, along with the fact that this eldest son and heir of an earl was still unmarried, Kitty was forced to certain conclusions about the reasons behind Miss Bingley's inquiries. Remembering Elizabeth's remarks about the distinction between mercenariness and practicality, she tried not to think harshly of Miss Bingley's interest. Her tolerance was challenged once again a moment later, when she became aware that Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to be seeking Miss Bingley's good opinion, and recalled that Miss Bingley was herself in possession of a substantial fortune, while the Colonel, as a younger son, was largely excluded from his father's inheritance.

Her eyes on her work, she allowed her ears to roam and pick up bits of other conversations. Elizabeth and Jane were listening to Mrs Hurst describe an assembly she had recently attended in London. Mr Darcy and Mr Sutcliffe were arguing about a matter of politics unfamiliar to Kitty. Mr Bennet was conversing with Mr Hurst, and Kitty recognized that Mr Hurst was the object of subtle mockery without being in the least aware of the fact. She was musing over how often this approach had been used by Mr Bennet toward his own family over the years, when Mrs Hurst completed her description and turned to her brother.

"Charles, you've told us very little about your proposed estate. Do give us some idea of it." Mr Bingley responded with what he knew of the acreage of the land, the number of tenant farms, and the approximate size of the house. He was also, thanks to his mode of exploration, able to provide the exact number of bedrooms and the approximate condition of the chimneys, but his sisters were dissatisfied with this. "Come, Charles, you must know more than that. What is the style of the building?"

"I could not say, Louisa. It's very fine looking and built of brick and stone, but beyond that..."

"Oh, you are useless at such things!" Seeing Kitty sitting nearby, Mrs Hurst addressed her. "Miss Catherine, you can at least give us your impression of the house, can you not?"

"Oh!" Kitty tried to rally her thoughts, and provide what was asked for as best she could. "Well...I thought it was lovely. The rooms were large and full of light, for windows line every outer wall; and they are elegant but at the same time comfortable. I imagine it would be easy to feel at home there. And the grounds are not as fine as those here at Pemberley, but there are some very pretty walks, with a natural stream running all through the park and a grand old stand of oak trees, at least an acre across, I think. As to the style of the building, I have no notion of such things."

"I have looked into that question," Mary put in, and related as though reading aloud, "The house was designed by a student of Sir Robert Taylor, named James Crabtree, a gifted but largely unknown architect who left the work behind early in his career, after inheriting a fortune from a wealthy uncle. The main house is constructed of brick and local stone, with a slate roof. The interior depends upon pleasing dimensions and the restrained use of carved mahogany for its aesthetic appeal, with elaborate carved or inlaid stone chimney-pieces serving as the visual centrepiece of each room. It is built in a modified form of the Palladian style, with additional Baroque and modern influences according to the architect's distinctive vision."

Jane blinked in surprise. "Thank you, Mary, for such complete information. I had no idea you were taking all this trouble."

"It was my pleasure," Mary said solemnly.

"But I suppose the key question is how Mr Bingley and Jane feel about the house," Elizabeth suggested.

"Very true, Eliza!" Mrs Hurst agreed. "Jane, what _do_ you think of your house?"

Jane smiled. "I am delighted with it. It is beautiful without being too ornate, and I believe I could quite easily feel at home there."

"You seem to have no reservations at all. And do you agree, Charles?"

"Oh, entirely!"

"We must see the house," Miss Bingley said eagerly. "As soon as it is convenient, Charles, let us all drive there and see your estate. It is quite an exciting development. What is it called? Kingswood? Yes, we should all go, and see what it looks like before it has been furnished - provided the weather is fine."

"We shall go whenever you like," Mr Bingley agreed immediately. "Tomorrow morning, if you wish."

It was agreed upon, and the discussion became more general. Georgiana quietly proposed going for her usual walk before the sun began to set, and asked if Kitty would care to join her. She did so, as did Mr Darcy, uncharacteristically. "You do not usually take an evening walk, Mr Darcy," Kitty observed as they left the house.

"After being in company for some time, I often feel the need for a period of quiet," he confided.

Kitty nodded. "You are very much like Georgiana, I think, even if you are not quite so uncomfortable in company. You are both more at ease with people who are familiar to you, and with smaller gatherings."

He raised an eyebrow, but did not disagree. "Elizabeth's society has helped both my sister and myself, each in our way, to improve in that regard; but we are both a little unsociable by nature."

"Everyone improves in Elizabeth's company," she said, speaking partly out of loyalty, but seeing much truth in the statement as well. Georgiana smiled and agreed.

They set out across the park, passing not far from the stables, when a man suddenly stepped in front of them, startling Kitty considerably. He was both large and tall, roughly dressed and heavily bearded, and seemed to glare at them. "Mr Darcy," he said, in a heavily accented voice that suggested menace to Kitty's mind; she half expected him to continue, _'Mr Darcy, prepare to meet your doom!'_

Mr Darcy, however, seemed undisturbed. "Good evening, MacTavish. Did you want something?"

The man spoke, but Kitty could make nothing of his statement, and the tone of his voice still suggested to her that he must be uttering threats, or at the very least personal insults. Apparently Mr Darcy had the same difficulty in understanding, and said, "I beg your pardon, could you repeat that?"

The bearded man scowled more fiercely at this, but repeated his words, which this time Kitty was able to make out. "I thought ye'd wish t' know, th' mistress' pet bitch's whelped durin' night, and th' new bairns is in t' stables."

"Puppies?" Kitty asked, reasonably sure this was the meaning of his sentence. "Little Folly has had her puppies?"

"Aye, Miss," he replied, his tone a bit less formidable.

"Mrs Darcy will be delighted to hear it," Mr Darcy said. "How many did she produce?"

"Dinna ken. A fair many."

"All well, as far as you know?"

"Aye, Sir. All live, and th' minnie bitch hale an' well, so yer horseman says."

"Excellent. I shall pass the news along."

"Can we go and see them?" Kitty asked eagerly.

"An' please ye, Sir, ye should leave 'em be a day or two," Mr MacTavish said, "an' not handle the wee whalpies for two week or more."

"We shall take your advice. Thank you, MacTavish." The man gave a brusque tug at his cap, turned and stalked off.

"Who was that?" Kitty asked, staring after the man.

"The gamekeeper. You need not be frightened of him. He is gruff, but harmless."

They returned to the house and joined the others in the large sitting room, where conversation was underway. Georgiana escaped to the music room, where she played with the door left open, so that soft music could be faintly heard by the others. Kitty sat with her for a short while, then joined the gathering, leaving Georgiana to communicate with the party in a way that was easier for her. The new Bingley estate was once again under discussion.

"Is anything known of the previous owner?" Miss Bingley asked the room at large.

"I know the fellow - at least, I met him once or twice, and know him by reputation," Mr Hurst was saying. "Capital fellow, quite fashionable, invited everywhere in London and in his neighbourhood. Younger son, who inherited when his older brother died unexpectedly. That was many years ago now." He took a long draught of his wine. "Not altogether surprised at his having to sell."

"Really?" Mr Bingley said. "I've heard it said that he exceeded his income, but thought that to be mere rumour."

"Oh, it is more than rumour. He spent lavishly on his daily living, but that alone would not have placed him in trouble, not with the income from Kingswood. No, it was other things. He lost at cards often, for one, but to his credit, never let a debt of honour wait. And then, certain parties being supported in other households of his keeping. Had a _petite amie,_ they say, with a house of her own, servants, a carriage and horses, and all. That costs a great deal, I should think." Mrs Hurst looked at him warningly, but her husband, who seemed quite relaxed from the wine he had enjoyed at dinner and afterward, continued blithely on. "Say what you will, the man takes care of his responsibilities. Maintains all his natural children as well, without exception, and they are said to be many. Sorry he lost the estate, but his loss is your gain, eh, Bingley?"

"My dear Mr Hurst," his wife said at last, "I think you forget where you are! This is not your club, where you can rattle on about whatever you like."

"Eh? Ah, yes! Very sorry, ladies. I should not be talking of wicked women in your company. Beg pardon for shocking you."

Kitty was not, in fact, shocked - or not in the way Mrs Hurst feared. Mr Hurst's casual reference to the support of natural children, as if it were an ordinary household expense, made her think of the children themselves. They would be like Margaret Chamberlain's daughter, or Rose Plaskitt's, at best tolerated, and at worst despised, for their entire lives. She thought of Miss Chamberlain, alone and eking out a living in her tiny cottage; and of Rose, walking the length of England to beg help for herself and her child. Whatever wrong they had done, they had certainly paid for it, which was more than could be said for the men who had placed them in such circumstances. It made her angry; and she found herself replying, "You were not talking of wicked women, Mr Hurst, but of a wicked man."

This openly combative statement caused a brief but total silence, in which Georgiana's music could be heard with particular clarity. Mrs Bennet stared at Kitty with a mixture of surprise and disapproval. Mr Bennet, whose attention had begun to wander, became alert as the possibility of amusing social friction arose.

"Wicked? Well, I don't know about _that!_" Mr Hurst said, responding to Kitty's ill will with a show of good cheer. "Something of a roué, perhaps. He has always taken care of his responsibilities like a gentleman. Very generous to his friends, too. He does not _have_ to support these children, you know. Does it out of the goodness of his heart."

Kitty was not prepared to accept this. "He unlawfully produces children who will be scorned and belittled their entire lives, but is a good man because he does not also allow them to starve? Does he not care how much misery he causes? How is _he_ not at least as wicked as the women he degrades?"

"My goodness!" Miss Bingley put in nervously, seeming intent on mollifying both combatants before the quarrel worsened. "Our Miss Catherine Bennet is something of a firebrand! What righteous indignation she expresses!"

"Must've been reading from that Wool-croft woman, or Wool-stone - what was her name?" Mr Hurst chuckled, gesturing to the footman to refill his wine glass.

"You are an idealist, Miss Catherine," Mrs Hurst said soothingly, but with a superior tone. "No doubt you are right, according to the highest understanding; but that is not the way of the world."

"Well, I...I think it ought to be!" Although still angry, Kitty began to recognize that she was creating something of a disturbance while a guest in someone's home, and looked around uneasily. "I'm sorry for causing a quarrel, but it seems terribly unfair to me."

Jane put an arm about her shoulders. "It is good of you to care so much about these unfortunates, dear. As Mrs Hurst says, you are speaking of justice in the best sense, in the ideal; but it is true that the world does not always follow the highest path. In life as we know it, women hold the burden of responsibility for such moral failings."

Miss Bingley saw the opportunity both to quell the argument and to present herself in a good light, and added, "It is important for a young lady such as yourself, Miss Catherine, to understand the greater obligation a lady has to maintain decency and decorum in all matters, great and small - and the correspondingly greater burden of guilt should she fail to do so. Mr Sutcliffe, as a clergyman, do you not agree?"

Mr Sutcliffe hesitated before answering. "I agree that what you describe is the common understanding. It is not necessarily equitable, much less true Christian morality, but it may be advisable to become familiar with popular expectations, even if they are no more than convention. As you rightly imply, the punishments imposed by the world are as real and inescapable as if they represented true justice."

Kitty gave a glance of gratitude to the speaker, taking his words as support; for she was able to read in this equivocal statement not only its superficial polite acceptance of Miss Bingley's opinion, but also its subtle but marked criticism. She was reminded of other occasions when Mr Sutcliffe had found ways to hold his ground while seeming to concede. It was, she thought, a tactic he used mainly with people he disliked or found unreasonable; with his friends, he was straightforward, even in dissent.

Miss Bingley was not entirely happy with this response, and added, "Miss Catherine can be praised for her elevated sense of fairness, but her innocence might benefit from some instruction in what is expected by good society." She smiled over at Kitty. "Perhaps you would profit from reading the Reverend Fordyce's Sermons to Young Women. Are you familiar with it?"

"I have had some of it read out to me ," Kitty replied, remembering all too well Mr Collins' dull reading of that very book.

"It is filled with practical instruction on role of a lady, and the expectations a lady ought to fulfill. Perhaps you have even used it, Mr Sutcliffe, in your own sermons?"

"I have never had occasion to do so," he replied.

"I am surprised, for the book is quite popular. Do you not recommend these sermons to ladies of Miss Bennet's age?"

"To be perfectly frank, Miss Bingley, while the Reverend Fordyce is a highly respectable and well informed gentleman, and his intentions beyond reproach, I cannot endorse this particular set of sermons. I think very little of their value. In my view, they promote weakness, ignorance and idleness as womanly traits, while encouraging men to expect from women the kind of indulgence suitable for a child of two or three years. It appalls me that a lady who is intelligent and well read should be advised to conceal the fact, as if learning were something shameful; or a healthy and active lady to pretend to be feeble and indolent, because frailty and lassitude are deemed by fashion to be feminine qualities."

"Well said, Mr Sutcliffe," Elizabeth said. "That was my impression as well."

"And mine," Mr Darcy agreed. "I should hate to consider my sister's education to be either wasted, or contemptible and in need of concealment; much less her health and natural vigour. While men and women occupy different spheres and are charged with different obligations, and rightly so, I believe essential virtues must be held in common."

These remarks raised Kitty's spirits considerably. They made perfect sense to her, and she agreed with them, but this fact came as a surprise. She had always disliked Fordyce's Sermons, and had found their advice irritating and disdainful, but had assumed that good, serious minded people - such as Elizabeth, and Mr Sutcliffe - would approve of them, and find her dislike a sign of frivolity and weak understanding. It was heartening to find her own unstudied reaction in agreement with the opinion of people she respected.

"I see the matter is open to question," Miss Bingley said stiffly.

"It has been a day for the airing of differing opinions," Mr Darcy said genially, bowing to her, "but we can differ and still remain friends."

"Oh, to be sure! There is a great variety of opinion here, and it is most stimulating." She did not seem entirely sincere, but she willingly let the matter drop.

Kitty was prepared to be freed from the dispute without the need for further apology. She remained quiet, her eyes on her work; but it seemed the discussion was not finished. Mary had been excluded from the conversation long enough, and took this opportunity to add her own wisdom.

"It is important to combine the proper respect for decorum and the shunning of immorality, with our obligation to forgive and to provide charitable assistance where required, even to the morally fallen," she said, to no one in particular. "I am sure Mr Darcy and Elizabeth have carefully considered how best to fulfill both requirements, in their decision to offer shelter to disgraced women and fatherless children."

This statement, presumed to be a simple platitude, was paid little attention; and so there was a pause of several seconds before the meaning of Mary's concluding remarks made their full impact. "Excuse me?" Mrs Hurst exclaimed. "Do I understand you to suggest that Mr Darcy is housing more than one such woman here at Pemberley?"

Elizabeth gave Mary an exasperated glance, which went unnoticed, and replied, "Yes, there is one young lady who is a tenant in a small dwelling on the estate, and has been there for some time. And another..." she looked furtively toward the next room, where Georgiana played on, apparently unable to hear the conversation over the sound of her music. "...another, recently arrived, who is in temporary service at the gatekeeper's cottage."

Mr Hurst laughed again. "Young Sutcliffe is turning everybody into Latitude-what's-their names, I wager! You know, the ones who go about giving alms and whatnot." Mr Bennet could be heard to chuckle, which stung Kitty more than a little, as did her mother's glare of disapproval.

"Latitudinarians," Mary supplied helpfully, but no one heard her.

"And both these women have with them an illegitimate child?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked.

"They do," Mr Darcy answered. "Both were in distress and without a home or living. They are now in safety and able to provide for themselves." Mrs Bennet, who had seemed prepared to speak, glanced apprehensively at Mr Darcy and held her peace.

"And you consider Pemberley an appropriate place for such women?" the Colonel demanded.

Mr Darcy's face took on the austere look Kitty had encountered before, which some people found so intimidating. "Pemberley is mine, and therefore the only place I have any right to offer."

Colonel Fitzwilliam's manner became a little more conciliatory. "Quite so, but as your sister's fellow guardian, I must wonder if such people set a suitable example for an impressionable young lady."

Mr Darcy's manner did not become warmer. "The new resident's presence is unknown to Georgiana, and will continue so if everyone in this room remains discreet. Her work here is temporary, while we attempt to find her an appropriate placement." The Colonel nodded, seeming to find this acceptable. "As for our established tenant, she is a lady of rank who has been cast out by her family and friends, and now lives in a two room cottage where she works for a pittance, impoverished and barely tolerated by her neighbours. That seems to me far from likely to set any young lady of sense on the wrong path. Indeed, I can hardly imagine a more alarming cautionary tale, all the more effective for being not a tale, but a living person."

"I do see your point," Colonel Fitzwilliam conceded.

"But having such a woman living here! And with the child as well! It is so distasteful!" Mrs Hurst exclaimed. "It is not _quite_ so bad if a woman in such circumstances will at least give up the child."

"Yes, that shows some sense of decorum, at least," her husband agreed. "The child should be, er...left to the proper authorities to deal with."

"To a workhouse?" Mr Sutcliffe quietly rejoined. "That is tantamount to sending the child to his death. And most foundling homes will not take in a child born out of wedlock."

"Oh, I suppose you may be right, but...to have it _here_ is so distasteful!" Mrs Hurst protested.

"Quite so," Mr Hurst agreed. "Most improper."

Kitty found herself forgetting her earlier intention to remain silent. "But to have the child's natural father here as a visitor _would_ be proper, I suppose," she said, glowering a little at Mr Hurst, "for he is a wealthy gentleman, and no doubt a _capital fellow_." She heard Mr Sutcliffe cough, in a way that suggested he may have been smothering a laugh, and while she carefully avoided looking at him, a sense of his support for her indignation gave her courage to face whatever disapproval might result.

"Oh, but it is not at all the same thing!" Mrs Hurst objected. "Taking such a woman and her child into one's home openly, so that one's neighbours are aware of it..."

Mr Bingley entered the conversation. "You may not realize, Louisa, that Jane and I had the young woman and the little girl stay at Netherfield while preparing to leave for Derbyshire, and _my_ neighbours may think of it what they please!"

There is no telling where the discussion might have led, or how long this state of barely restrained conflict would have lasted; but fortunately, Jane took it upon herself to intervene, pacifying all parties as only she could do. Elizabeth added her own efforts, using humour to distract those who remained angry; and Darcy declared that, as no agreement could be arrived at, they must all consider it a drawn battle, and chivalrously withdraw to fight another day. Everyone allowed themselves to be led on to less contentious subjects. In fact, the conversation became quite amicable again, especially once Elizabeth mentioned that the promised ball at Pemberley was planned and the date set. Card tables were set up, and most of those present joined in, while Mr Hurst fell asleep on the chaise longue, and Kitty, once certain she was unobserved, slipped from the room to join Georgiana. For all Kitty's dread, the argument did not make much of an impression, and the guests retired for the night without so much as a sullen look between any of them.


	28. Domestic Concerns

_"If there is any thing disagreeable going on, men are always sure to get out of it." _  
><em>Persuasion<em>

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><p>By the following day, Kitty had begun to regret her outspokenness, and was afraid she had placed Elizabeth and Mr Darcy in an awkward position. However, she found that her apprehension was quite unnecessary. Everyone had either completely forgotten the argument, or were willing to pretend they had, and conversation at the breakfast table was perfectly cordial.<p>

Mary was seated beside Mr Sutcliffe at breakfast, and Kitty noticed that they talked at great length about the philanthropic efforts led by the Reverend Mr Swanscott, and about the little charity school. Mr Sutcliffe seemed to question Mary in minute detail about the establishment of these services and their implementation, and when the meal ended, their conversation continued for nearly an hour. Kitty had to conclude that Mr Sutcliffe's interest in the matter was not merely polite, but genuine.

Kitty had received two letters with the morning post. She recognized Maria Lucas' handwriting on the first, and withdrawing to a comfortable corner, opened it directly. Maria provided news of the neighbourhood, ranging from the recent weather and new merchandise in the Meryton shops, to births and deaths, then went on to describe the development of her friendship with Mr Sallow, which seemed to show great promise, at least by Maria's account. She passed along greetings from Sir William and Lady Lucas, as well as from her younger brothers and sisters.

The second letter appeared to be from Lydia, and Kitty paused a long moment before breaking the seal. It was considerably longer than Lydia's usual short notes.

_Dear Kitty,_  
><em>What a jolly summer I have been having! There are so many balls, and assemblies, and card parties and all, that I scarcely spend an evening at home. The regulars are a merry lot, many of them younger than the officers at Meryton and most quite handsome and happy to flirt with any young lady at the party. I and Wickham are so well liked that we are included in every invitation. You really must get Papa to let you come to Newcastle soon, for you cannot imagine what fun you would have, away from home and able to do as you like. I heard from Mama that you were all at Pemberley. She says it is a grand house but everybody is always too busy and they never even play cards more than one evening in five. You would have much more fun here than at that ghastly old castle full of proper, stuck-up people. I hope it is haunted at least, for that would be such a laugh.<em>

_Mama writes that Jane and Bingley are buying a house and moving to Derbyshire. If that is true, I shall try to visit her once she is set up there, for it is much closer than Hertfordshire, and I'm sure Jane would let me come and stay, and she and Bingley would be so much pleasanter than Mr Darcy, and perhaps give a ball while I am there. Wickham has been invited to go to Bath in a few weeks by some of his friends in the regiment, but the jaunt is for gentlemen only, it seems, and it would be a fine scheme if I could visit Jane while he is away. I should like to see Bath one day, for I have heard it is a very lively place and great fun, and always full of handsome young gentlemen._

_I have had to get new dancing slippers for all the balls we go to, but I was not able to get a single new gown for the summer. Wickham says our money is running out, because we have been using too much of its capital, or something of that sort. I can hardly believe that, for we were given a great deal of money as a wedding present, and it should certainly have lasted much longer. I think he is becoming a worried old miser from being around some of the older officers. You would have thought it funny, I called him an old stick a week or more ago, for when we were readying for a ball one evening he told me I should wear my tuck like the other ladies. I had to laugh, for that is just like what Lizzy used to tell me over and over, and it was so absurd to hear the same from Wickham. He said the other ladies noticed when I did not wear it, but I think ladies become jealous of any woman with a finer figure than they have, and I paid him no notice._

_I should ask you if you could do a favour for me and Wickham, for tho' I think he is worrying over nothing, he has said he must start to look for a new position somewhere, before we run out of money altogether. I think Mr Darcy must know many people who could give dear Wickham an excellent place of some kind, for he is so clever, he could do almost anything well, I am sure. I wrote to Lizzy about it twice but she never mentions it in her letters, so I hope you can talk to her and see what they can do. It would be excellent if Wickham could have a place at court, or in Parliament, or some such thing._

_Dear Wickham has become rather distant recently, and I am sure it is because he is so worried about money. He is even talking of leaving the house and the regulars without notice, and paying off our debts later once we find a better place, so I am counting on your help. Lizzy is very stubborn about these things but I think you could get round her and have her do something for us._

_Do you have any beaux in Derbyshire, or are you too closely guarded by the dull old Darcys to get near any young gentlemen? Tell me the truth, I shall not give away your secrets! Oh, I heard that Maria Lucas has a lover, and they say she might marry. I hope I get invited to her wedding, and have a chance to see this person, for he sounds horrid. I could never marry a man with a name like Alfred Sallow, but I suppose he will do well enough for Maria. He must at least be better than Charlotte's husband, don't you think? I suppose he is even better than Lizzy's, only I expect he doesn't have near so much money as Mr Darcy. If you meet him some time you must write and tell me what he looks like. I wager he is frightful!_

_Yours, Lydia Wickham_

This lighthearted message left Kitty feeling depressed. It confirmed everything she had feared about Lydia's situation. She was as frivolous and thoughtless as ever, unable to take anything seriously, even the threat of her own insolvency. She seemed no more sensible than when she had run away at sixteen, and no more capable of managing the responsibilities of a married woman. Marriage, Kitty feared, had not made her modest, decent, nor more respectable, and she seemed to still carry on with gentlemen almost as if she had no husband. Kitty could not help but compare Lydia's boisterous self-display to the pleasing but discreet appearance and manner of her two eldest sisters.

She read the letter through a second time. There were hints that her husband's regard for her was lessening, more clear to Kitty than they apparently were to Lydia herself. Her casual reference to Mr Wickham's becoming distant seemed ominous to Kitty, knowing what she did of him, and she presumed that his actual disinterest was likely much greater than Lydia allowed herself to see. His pleasure trip to Bath, taken without his wife, and in spite of their depleted funds, worried her greatly, although she could not establish the exact evil which might result, only a muddle of unfortunate possibilities. The concerns about money, Kitty expected, were also more justified than Lydia could recognize, for she had always been heedless of any need for economy, only restrained in her extravagance by her father's being able to limit her allowance. Freed of such limits, Kitty imagined her spending to be lavish; and combined with Mr Wickham's known improvidence, the result was inevitable.

Above all, Lydia's reference to her 'wedding present' gave her pain. Kitty was all too aware that the money was no present, but the inducement necessary to force Mr Wickham into an unwanted marriage with a woman he had intended to callously discard, and must therefore regard, at best, with indifference, at worst with contempt. Lydia's carefree ignorance, which perhaps should have been seen as a mercy, seemed to Kitty to merely highlight the sadness of her situation.

Kitty sat for some time, staring out the window and musing over her youngest sister's situation, but with little useful result. Finally putting her letters away, Kitty joined Elizabeth and Georgiana for a walk through the park and around the lake, taking a short detour to the stables, where the three ladies, obedient to the gamekeeper's recommendations, observed Folly's litter of puppies from a careful distance, standing just inside the doorway. Folly was housed in an empty stable, on a bed of clean straw, where she nursed and brooded over a tumble of tiny, blind pups. "So sweet!" Kitty whispered, trying not to disturb the young animals. "How many? I can't count them when they keep moving about like that."

"Six, I believe," Elizabeth whispered back. Folly noticed her mistress' presence, and began to rise, her tail wagging, causing the puppies to tumble through the straw, mewling as they sought their milk; then the dog paused, torn between affection for Elizabeth and devotion to her puppies.

The stable-master noticed, and said, "Best come pet her, Ma'am, if you please. But not the puppies, Ma'am, if you would - not yet."

Elizabeth eagerly moved forward, praised and stroked Folly, who accepted the greeting and happily lay back down beside her litter. "Good girl," she said, patting Folly once more before departing.

"Are you riding today?" Kitty asked her sister as they walked on.

"No, not today. I have preparations to make along with Mrs Reynolds."

"Preparations?"

"Yes. Do you not remember that we promised to give a ball in two weeks time?"

"But will it take two weeks of preparations?"

"It will indeed, for the ball we are planning will be very grand, very festive, and very well attended." Elizabeth's steps increased in speed, turning to a half-run, half-dance as she hurried along. "It is also the first ball given at Pemberley since I have been there, and I must make a good impression. I will not have the neighbourhood whispering that the new Mrs Darcy is in any way stingy with her ballroom regalia."

"I'm sure it will be the loveliest ball that ever was held here," Georgiana assured her.

"Well, I am beginning to plan the dance, and so if you or Kitty have any favourites, please let me know, and I shall try to include them."

This request was quickly responded to. Georgiana asked for Emperor of the Moon, and Kitty, who enjoyed livelier dances, urged Elizabeth to include a reel at least once in the course of the ball, and perhaps twice.

"Very well," Elizabeth agreed, "but then we must also have some more sedate dances, for the older and less energetic guests."

Conversation on this topic occupied the walk back to Pemberley, where they were greeted as they entered the sitting room by Mr Sutcliffe and Mary, who sat reading, and Mr Darcy, who was writing letters. "I hope you enjoyed your walk, ladies," Mr Darcy said, turning away from his desk a moment.

"Very much, although I think it will rain later on," Elizabeth said. "We stopped to see the puppies. Six of them, all in good health."

"They are so charming!" Kitty exclaimed. "I wish Papa would keep a spaniel like Folly, for they are such sweet dogs."

"Perhaps I shall offer Mr Bennet one of the puppies to take home with him," Mr Darcy suggested.

"I doubt he would accept, for he has always objected to owning more than a very few dogs. He has only his two pointers, which he takes hunting, and no more."

"Well, you can at least visit them while you are here," Elizabeth told her with a smile.

"You were not dog-devotees, then, at your home in Hertfordshire?" Mr Sutcliffe asked, directing the question equally to Kitty and Mary. "Did your father have a greater regard for horses, as some gentlemen do?"

Mary replied for both of them. "No, for he only kept horses enough for the carriage, and those were sometimes lent out for farming on the estate. None of us rode often at home. We walked wherever we had to go, more often than not."

"I see."

"Walking is extremely beneficial to one's health, I am told."

"I believe you are right. Tell me more of Longbourn. Was your father's estate isolated, or did you have many neighbours?"

Mary answered readily, without seeming to wonder at this line of questioning, and as their conversation continued along these lines, Kitty took up the copy of Gulliver's Travels she had been reading. Mr Sutcliffe seemed prepared to hear every particular of the Bennet sisters' weddings, their individual characters, their likes and dislikes, with an interest that few men would have been able to sustain. Mary spoke more briefly of her father, whom she praised as intelligent, educated, and extremely well read, but allowed that he was much inclined to sarcasm and ridicule, directed as often at strangers as at his own family.

"My brief acquaintance has been enough to demonstrate that he is clever and well informed. I have noticed that he possesses a barbed wit, but he seems also to have a good heart, despite his satirical remarks," Mr Sutcliffe ventured, and Mary allowed that he might be right. Mary said next to nothing of Mrs Bennet, except to describe her birthplace and the existence of her two siblings; and Mr Sutcliffe, always adept at reading others' intentions and feelings, did not press her for more information.

As the questions continued, Kitty, having nothing new to learn from Mary's answers, let the book capture her attention entirely. Some time later, her mind was drawn away from her reading with a slight shock, when she realized that Mary, having described her other sisters' courtships and marriages, had gone on to talk of Lydia's.

"My elder two sisters' marriages were happy events, but I am afraid the same could not be said of my youngest sister's. It was a sad, one can almost say ignominious, affair." Mr Sutcliffe expressed surprise. "Yes, as much as I feel the obligation to disguise my sister's failings, there is no denying that it was a situation fraught with scandal, threatening to bring our entire family into disrepute. It made me reflect on the many pertinent and inspiring things which have been written..."

As Mary expanded on the literary references which provided insight into Lydia's predicament, Kitty looked around to see who was listening, and whether any effort was being made to redirect Mary's comments. Elizabeth had left the room, no doubt to consult with her housekeeper, and Georgiana had gone to the music room; but Mr Darcy was still at his writing desk, and Jane and Mr Bingley had entered the room, unnoticed by Kitty, and were seated together by the window, talking quietly. There was, at least, no one else present who was unfamiliar with Lydia's circumstances, but Kitty fervently hoped that Mr Sutcliffe would learn no more about it. Feeling that asking Mary to avoid the subject would only draw more attention to it, she remained silent, her eyes on the page she had just finished reading, hoping that Mary would be circumspect.

Her hopes were in vain. Having finished quoting Tacitus, Mary returned to the facts relating to Lydia's marriage, freely and censoriously describing the elopement from Brighton, the family's frantic search for her, and the shockingly delayed wedding in London. Kitty felt her face become warm as she listened, prey to strange feelings. She had finally learned to understand the danger Lydia had placed herself in by running away with Mr Wickham, and felt belated fear for her sister's peril; she was concerned for Lydia's happiness and security, and vexed with her thoughtlessness and irresponsibility. Shame, however, had not so far played a great part in her sentiments. Kitty had come to understand the immorality and selfishness of Lydia's conduct, but only in a rather abstract way; it did not cause her great pain, as it had her sisters. Only now, hearing the particulars described to Mr Sutcliffe, did she experience real mortification. The dread of his contempt for Lydia's actions, and of his including her family in that contempt, caused Kitty to freeze in apprehension.

Mr Sutcliffe, however, did not utter curses on Lydia nor repudiate the entire Bennet household. He did not even give any indication of shock or disgust. He spoke of the matter seriously, but with sympathy, dwelling in particular on the great distress the family must have endured while seeking her. Kitty slowly released the breath she had been unconsciously holding, only then thinking to wonder at her own reaction. Mr Sutcliffe looked briefly in her direction, and Kitty had a notion that he perceived her distress, for he began to subtly move the discussion away from Lydia, and back to the previous matter of the charity school. As Mary began to extol the value of a recent book which dealt with the instruction of the inferior classes_, _and recommend it to Mr Sutcliffe, Kitty set her book aside and wandered from the room, thinking to lessen her agitation with a short walk in the gardens. She saw from the windows that the rain which Elizabeth had predicted was already falling steadily, restricting her to the house. She stood watching through a window, until she heard her name called._  
><em>

She turned to find Elizabeth and Georgiana, accompanied by Mrs Reynolds, Mr Spooner, and the parlourmaid. "Kitty, if you are free, will you come to the ballroom with us?" Elizabeth asked, smiling and seeming happily excited by whatever she was engaged in. "Help us plan the decorations for the ball." Kitty readily agreed, glad of the distraction, and followed her sister to the little-used part of the house which held Pemberley's spacious ballroom, a vast, open, well appointed room with a raised gallery for musicians.

"I don't remember it being so large!" Kitty exclaimed, walking across the floor. "You could have two hundred people dancing in here at once!"

"Perhaps not quite two hundred," Elizabeth laughed, "but certainly there will be room for a great number of couples at one time." She began to discuss the arrangements with her housekeeper and butler, asking both servants what had been done in previous years, and readily accepting advice in consideration of their far greater experience with entertainments at Pemberley. As they moved into the adjoining dining hall to plan the refreshments and determine what changes were needed, a strange, choking sound was heard from behind them. They all turned to find Mr Spooner, who had kept back a few paces, wavering unsteadily on his feet. He grasped the mantelpiece to keep from falling, but was unable to remain standing, and sank to the floor.

Elizabeth ran to him in alarm. "Mr Spooner! What is it? Shall I fetch a doctor?" The elderly man seemed to attempt a reply, but was too breathless to speak coherently. "We must get help," Elizabeth said, moving as if to leave the room. "Mrs Reynolds, where is Mr Darcy at present?"

"Let me go, Lizzy," Kitty interjected, "I've just left him."

"Very well. Hurry, Kitty!"

Kitty fled from the room, bursting through the sitting room door in a rush, startling the occupants considerably. "Mr Darcy!" she exclaimed without preamble. "You must come at once!"

He rose from his seat, alarmed. "What is it? Is Elizabeth...?"

"No, it is your butler. He has collapsed, and seems very ill. They are in the ballroom."

He started for the door. "Shall I come?" Mr Sutcliffe asked. Mr Darcy assented, and the two men hurried toward the ballroom, Mr Bingley hurrying after them in case further assistance was needed, and Kitty following for lack of certainty about her own usefulness in the present situation. They entered the ballroom to find Mr Spooner sitting on the floor, his back against the wall for support, trying to stand and feebly protesting Elizabeth's efforts to prevent him. Seeing Mr Darcy enter the room, he began to apologize and make light of the matter. "Very sorry to make a scene, Sir; I must have stumbled. Ridiculous of me. Please don't trouble yourself. It's nothing."

Mr Darcy said, kindly but firmly, "I hope that it is nothing, but please allow me to ease my own mind by confirming it absolutely." Without waiting for a reply, he turned to his housekeeper. "Mrs Reynolds, please send a man to fetch the doctor." He paused to soothe Mr Spooner's objections, then addressed Mrs Reynolds again. "Tell him to take the covered curricle, rather than go on horseback. It's pouring outside." Mrs Reynolds, looking distraught, hurried away to follow his instructions.

After ensuring that Mr Spooner had no broken bones or other injuries that would preclude moving him, Mr Darcy began to assist him to his feet, but found the old man unable to offer much assistance. Mr Bingley had followed them to the ballroom, and he and Mr Sutcliffe joined in the effort, lifting Mr Spooner and transferring him to a sofa in a small drawing room a few steps down the corridor, where he was settled against some cushions. More apologies followed, but Mr Darcy refused them. "Nonsense, Mr Spooner. Anyone can become ill - although it has happened to _you_ so rarely, over so many years of service, it begins to look unfair. It could only be expected that your turn was due." The old servant chuckled weakly, but Mr Darcy's expression did not match his jocular tone. He studied the frail figure with a look of concern.

"Perhaps he had no breakfast this morning," Kitty suggested. "Some people become faint if they do not eat."

Elizabeth said, "Thank you, Kitty; that is a possibility. Parker, please ask Mrs Davies to provide tea and some toast or biscuits for Mr Spooner." The parlourmaid left off wringing her hands and fled toward the kitchen. "I think we should not try to move him again until the doctor arrives," she added, looking at her husband, who nodded in agreement.

The scene became less tense as it was recognized that Mr Spooner was in no immediate danger, and seeing that the invalid was embarrassed by the gathering of worried onlookers, Elizabeth asked that the servants return to their work, and the guests to their own occupations. Mr Darcy remained in the room, talking easily with Mr Spooner about practical household matters until the maid arrived with a tray. Mrs Reynolds accompanied her, and suggested that Mr Darcy could leave the matter in her hands. Sensing that his presence only encouraged alarm, he left the room and rejoined the others, but continued to appear worried, and met the doctor at the door himself to explain matters.

Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley, having finished their morning correspondence, entered the sitting room together, complaining about the weather. "What a horrible, wet day!" Miss Bingley observed, sinking gracefully down onto a chair. "Was that someone at the door just now?"

"The doctor has just arrived," Elizabeth explained.

"Oh, dear! I hope it is nothing serious."

"One of the servants was taken quite ill."

Miss Bingley looked relieved that illness had not struck anyone of importance. "What a shame he had to come out in this rain."

"Yes," Elizabeth agreed, "but I'm sure it is a regular demand of his profession; and we shall send him home in the carriage." Miss Bingley inquired about the upcoming ball, taking particular interest in any guests who were unfamiliar to her. When Jane proposed going upstairs to look in on baby Alice, Kitty offered to accompany her, taking it as a pleasant distraction. She remained for nearly an hour, playing with her niece and exclaiming over how clever she had become; and was shortly joined by Mr Bingley, who remained the doting father, and was happy to be in company where he could freely talk about his daughter's rudimentary accomplishments without taxing the listeners' patience.

When Kitty left the provisional nursery, she noted the continuing rain outside, and returned to the sitting room, where more of the guests were now gathered. Her mother was playing cards with Mr and Mrs Hurst, her father sat in a corner with a book, and Miss Bingley had joined Mr Sutcliffe and Mary in conversation. "How is the little dear?" Miss Bingley asked. "Are Jane and Charles still with her? It's quite touching how they adore the child, but I'm afraid they will spoil her."

"Do you think so?" Kitty asked. "I don't believe a baby can be spoiled by too much love."

"Still the idealist, Miss Catherine," Miss Bingley said with a smile. Several heads turned as Elizabeth and Mr Darcy entered the room, looking rather somber. "How is poor Mr Spooner?" Kitty asked them.

"He is resting quietly in his room," Elizabeth said, "but the doctor let us know that he is far from well. He is sending a draught, but we were warned not to expect a significant recovery."

"Oh, that's so sad! What is wrong with him?"

"Old age, primarily, or so the doctor believes," Mr Darcy said. "He has been growing weaker for some time. I am afraid he hesitated to complain of it until now."

"I'm sorry to hear it," Miss Bingley said politely. "It is so difficult to find a good butler." Mr Bennet smiled to himself, but without raising his eyes from his reading.

"Is he in pain?" Mr Sutcliffe asked.

"No, it seems not. He is only easily tired, and subject to spells of weakness and breathlessness." Mr Darcy shook his head. "I should have seen it earlier, and insisted he retire from service altogether; but he was so determined to continue. He's been at Pemberley for such a long time."

"He was proud of his position here, as anyone could see," Mr Sutcliffe said quietly, "and naturally wished to retain it as long as possible. And you _did_ reduce his actual work significantly." Mr Darcy acknowledged this, but still seemed remorseful.

"At least now you can replace him with a butler who can actually fulfill his duties," Mrs Hurst said cheerfully.

"Yes, that is something," Miss Bingley agreed. "I suppose this will not interfere with the ball?"

Elizabeth answered rather coolly that plans for the ball would not be affected. "That's a good thing," Kitty ventured, "for Mr Spooner would probably feel badly if he thought it was postponed because of _him_." Although there was no reply except Elizabeth's quiet agreement, this simple remark caused very diverse reactions in those present, some of which would have surprised Kitty very much.


	29. Practice and Preparations

_"Let us read, and let us dance; these two amusements will never do any harm to the world."_  
><em>Voltaire<em>

* * *

><p>Life at Pemberley continued as before, apart from a second appearance by the doctor. The hosts offered what entertainment they could to help their guests through three days of rain, after which they arranged to include at least some of the party in any invitations that came from neighbouring households, and to invite neighbours in turn, in order to vary the society a little. Once the sun came out and the roads dried, Kitty was glad to resume her daily walks, having become so accustomed to lengthy rambles that she had twice walked the perimeter of the park.<p>

The stables became a regular stop, so that Kitty was able to follow the progress of the litter of puppies, as their eyes opened, they learned to stand, and finally, when they became old enough to be held by their admirers without the handling interfering in their mother's care. This was first permitted on a day when a party of seven were out walking together. Elizabeth was first to enter the stall, caress and speak to Folly, and carefully lift one of the precious puppies, speaking soothingly to the concerned mother dog as she did. Once Folly came to tolerate this liberty, others were invited to take part. Kitty gently picked up the nearest puppy, a lively female with markings of white and chocolate brown. "So sweet! So pretty!" she crooned, cradling the little dog against her breast, laughing as it nuzzled curiously against her neck. She reluctantly passed the puppy along to Georgiana, who held it only a moment before Folly became agitated by the separation from her young, and the puppies were returned to her.

Mary chose to forego her turn. "You do not care for dogs, Miss Bennet?" Mr Sutcliffe asked her.

"Not greatly, although I respect their value to human society. Dogs are widely regarded as man's natural companion, as described in writings both ancient and modern, and as a beloved symbol of loyalty. However, I find I enjoy their symbolic value more than their actual company. These young ones do seem to be healthy and attractive, however. I understand this to be a well and carefully developed breed."

"Do you have a particular favourite among the six?"

"I think not. If I had to choose, the one Kitty was holding seems to have good qualities, both physical and in terms of temperament."

"Oh, yes!" Kitty agreed. "I think it was the prettiest of them all, and very affectionate." Mr Sutcliffe only nodded, studying the puppies thoughtfully.

Mary continued to talk of writings she had encountered on the subject of the human relationship with animals, including a great many references to classical literature, which Mr Sutcliffe listened to with apparent interest as they all moved on and continued their walk.

At dinner, when Kitty asked about Mr Spooner's health, Elizabeth explained that he had agreed to retire from his position. "We were afraid he would refuse, and place us in a painful predicament," she said, looking toward her husband, "and Mr Darcy was preparing speeches intended to convince him of the need to leave his profession, without either wounding his pride or suggesting that his situation was dire."

"As no such speech is really possible," Mr Darcy added, "it was a great relief to find that Mr Spooner was willing to acknowledge his poor health and submit to the ultimate indignity of retirement. He did, however, insist upon being involved in the selection and training of his replacement, and staying on for as long as it might take the man to become acceptable to Mr Spooner's exacting standards."

"Which might be quite some time," Elizabeth laughed. "If our new butler can satisfy Mr Spooner, and tolerate his demands, we can have no concern for his future career, when he has only Mr Darcy and myself to answer to."

"Mr Darcy, you should not let your servants dictate to you this way!" Mrs Hurst exclaimed. "Who is he to tell you how to choose your own butler?"

"He is the faithful assistant and guardian of this family for nearly fifty years," Mr Darcy replied, "and is certainly more an expert on the proper function of a butler than myself. I am happy to permit him this liberty, if he considers it a privilege worth having. It will only benefit the household in any case."

"Oh, perhaps you are right," she allowed. "I am used to servants trying to take advantage, so perhaps I have become too cautious."

"They can be a dashed nuisance," her husband agreed.

"Rarely, I think, such a nuisance as doing without them might be," Mr Darcy suggested, and Mr Hurst, taking this for humour, laughed appreciatively.

"How is your house progressing?" Mrs Hurst asked Jane, seeming to find the topic of servants resolved.

"Very well, I think," Jane replied with a smile. "The sale is settled, some small repairs attended to, the servants' quarters established, and we have begun furnishing the main rooms. Engaging a steward and housekeeper allowed things to go forward."

"It is proceeding much too slowly for me!" Mr Bingley exclaimed. "I would move in tomorrow if I could. It is tiresome to own a house and have to wait so long to live in it!"

"You will certainly be in place there before the end of summer," Mr Darcy said. "That is very quick, as these things usually go. If the house had needed significant repairs, you would not have lived there within a year." Mr Bingley admitted the truth of that.

After dinner, some of the guests formed groups to play cards, while others talked. Kitty took up her work and sat down on one end of a sofa, where proximity to a window offered the best light. Mary sat beside her and opened her book, as conversation about the Bingleys' estate continued around them. Mr Sutcliffe entered the room and, pausing to ask permission, took a seat beside Mary, who continued reading. "Are you enjoying Swift, Miss Bennet?" he asked.

"No, it is Lawrence Sterne," Mary said, looking up from her book.

"I beg your pardon; I meant your sister, who is reading Gulliver's Travels."

"Oh!" Kitty looked up from her sewing. "Yes, I like it very much; but it is such an odd story. I understand that the people and places are only symbols of real things, but some are easier to place than others. I did like the furious wars over which end of the egg to open first."

"Yes, so did I," Mr Sutcliffe laughed.

"It is fairly apt," Mary said in a more serious tone, "although perhaps too light a treatment of theological disputes. Do you not consider them significant, especially as a clergyman?"

"I do; but their significance does not have to imply open hostility against those who believe otherwise."

"You support tolerance for nonconformists and Papists, I must conclude?"

"You conclude correctly. I defend any man's right to his own beliefs, provided they do not lead him to do harm. I regret our nation's past intolerance. The prisons are, I believe, meant for thieves and murderers, not for men who prefer a different mode of prayer than most Englishmen."

"Or for those who open their eggs at the wrong end," Kitty suggested. Mr Sutcliffe laughed, but Mary seemed a little put out by such a frivolous addition to the discussion. She moved on to the subject of the Houyhnhnms, which Kitty participated in as well as she was able, although Mary was clearly better qualified to interpret the book.

When the guests had finished their coffee, Elizabeth proposed they take the opportunity to dance. "We shall be losing some of our company after today," she said, "and it is a chance to practice before the ball, while we still have enough guests to make up a good set." The entire room agreed immediately.

"Where shall we dance?" Miss Bingley asked.

"Oh, the ballroom, to be sure! Let us try it out before the event. Parker, there is no decorating taking place in the ballroom yet, is there?"

The servant paused in clearing the coffee things. "No, M'm, the 'ousemaids on'y did the 'eavy cleanin' and that was all done by yesterday, M'm." Kitty, noting yet another unfamiliar accent, paused to wonder at the various corners of the country from which Pemberley's servants had come.

Elizabeth clapped her hands. "Excellent. There is a small pianoforte in the corner, and we shall manage very well." The party agreeably left the room and followed their hostess and Mr Darcy to the ballroom. Kitty notices a small train of servants, two footmen and a maid, trailing quietly behind them. As Elizabeth made a movement toward the windows, the footmen quickly moved forward and opened them. A cool evening breeze moved through the room. "Do take care, for the floors have been polished. Who will play for us? Mary, perhaps you would..." Mary needed no further entreaty, but sat down at the instrument at once. Elizabeth asked for Grimstock, and the dance began as soon as a set could be formed, partners informally chosen according to proximity. Mr Sutcliffe, Kitty noticed, was standing close to Georgiana, but chose Miss Bingley as his partner. Her idea of Mr Sutcliffe's interest in her friend had become less plausible in her mind as time went on, and this small action was further confirmation that he saw Georgiana as no more than a friend.

Kitty found herself dancing with Mr Darcy for the first dance, then was invited by Mr Sutcliffe for the second. "I'm glad Lizzy suggested this," she told him. "With such a lovely ballroom, I wonder they do not dance here any evening when there are people enough."

"It does seem a shame to let it stand idle," he agreed.

"What did she mean by saying we will lose some company tomorrow?" Kitty asked. "Do you know who is leaving?"

"I am," he said with a smile. "Tomorrow is Saturday, and I must get back to my parish for Sunday services."

"Of course, I had not thought of that. But you can come back again on Monday, can't you?"

"No, for I am to perform two baptisms and a wedding during the week."

"Oh! That is too bad." She followed the movements of the dance mechanically for a few minutes, oddly disappointed that Mr Sutcliffe would be leaving so soon.

"I shall, of course, return for the ball." Kitty's smile returned at that news. "The Darcys were good enough to invite me, and to include several of my relations with whom Mr Darcy has a slight acquaintance. I hope I may introduce them to you."

The dance ended before Kitty had a chance to ask more about these relatives. Some of the dancers called out their preferences for the next, and began to choose new partners; but Mr Sutcliffe intervened, moving over to the pianoforte. "No, no; we must not keep Miss Mary Bennet playing for so long. It is quite unfair; she must have her turn at dancing as well." Elizabeth hastened to take her place, and Mary rose from her seat as a new set formed. "May I have the next dance, Miss Bennet?" Mr Sutcliffe asked, smiling. Mary accepted and took her place opposite him as the music began.

As there were more ladies than gentlemen present, Kitty next stood up with Jane, accepting the gentleman's side of the dance at Jane's insistence, on the grounds that Kitty was a more expert dancer who could adapt to the change of position more readily. It was a simple dance, and she had no difficulty following the movements while watching the other couples. Mary and Mr Sutcliffe often caught her eye, and she could see that a conversation was underway that appeared to engross both. Mr Sutcliffe treated his partner with great courtesy, and paid her words a degree of attention which Kitty had rarely seen given to Mary, particularly from gentlemen.

An idea came to her, which she at first dismissed as a fancy; but as more and more evidence came to mind, it grew from speculation to something very near to conviction. She recalled one example after another of Mr Sutcliffe's marked attention to Mary. She recalled long conversations, in which Mr Sutcliffe questioned her with unflagging interest about her charitable activities in their home parish. There were other discussions, during which he inquired about every possible detail of Mary's home life, of Longbourn, of her parents, of the characters, activities, likes and dislikes of all her sisters. Just that evening, he had chosen to sit beside Mary, and involve himself in their literary chat with every appearance of interest.

Kitty's mind moved rapidly over the many times Mr Sutcliffe had asked Mary to dance, although gentlemen rarely, in fact all but never, sought her out for that purpose. She recalled the times he had praised her level of learning, her accomplishments. He had particularly asked her about her preferences regarding dogs, which puppy was her favourite, whether she liked to ride, to walk. And then, making such a point of relieving Mary of the task of playing, so that she could join the dance!

It became clear to her, so clear that Kitty wondered how she had overlooked it, that Mr Sutcliffe had a very particular regard for Mary. He was, in fact, being so open about his preference, that it must be assumed he had no wish to hide it. He must, Kitty concluded, be prepared to seek out Mary's affection, and to declare his own, and most likely before much time had passed. Kitty paused to reply to a passing remark by Jane, before immersing herself once more in her own thoughts. It was a sensible match, she had to allow. Mary was highly accomplished, very well read, intelligent, pious, and concerned with charitable acts among the poor. In every significant way, she now realized, Mary was the perfect mate for a man like Mr Sutcliffe.

If they were to marry - then Mr Sutcliffe would become her brother. It was a happy thought, for she could imagine no one who would make a more agreeable brother; and yet, it was an idea that left her rather disturbed. She concluded that this was due to the novelty of the idea, and that she would gradually adapt as the prospect became familiar. However, she still resolved to keep her speculation to herself, determined to observe the same discretion as when she believed Mr Sutcliffe partial to Georgiana. Considering the present circumstances, she could see what a good thing it was that she had not spoken of it before.

After two more dances, Georgiana offered to take her turn at the pianoforte, and Elizabeth was immediately engaged by her husband. Mr Sutcliffe, after taking pains to ensure that Mary had a new partner, invited Jane to dance. Kitty was engaged rather brusquely by Mr Hurst, whose slightly tipsy condition made him a clumsy dance partner, but she was able to help and redirect him when necessary. At this point, the hour being late, Elizabeth suggested they conclude the evening with the usual Boulanger.

"That will be my opportunity to bid you all good-bye," Mr Sutcliffe said, "for I expect to leave quite early tomorrow morning." The others called out genial farewells, and a round set was formed. She noticed Mr Sutcliffe speaking briefly to each person as they met in the dance, until he finally reached Kitty. "Farewell for the present, Miss Bennet," he said, taking her hands to turn her. "I hope we will dance together again very soon."

"Yes, at the ball," she agreed. "Please..." She paused, suddenly and strangely uncertain of what she was about to say.

"Yes?" He looked at her quite earnestly, as if expecting words of great importance.

"Please take care driving home, for some of the roads may still be damp. I..." She met his eyes a moment, noticing for the first time what a distinctive shade of green they were, rather like the tiny leaves of sweet-clover when they first appeared in the early spring. "I...I should hate to hear of you overturning."

He smiled as if well satisfied by these mundane words. "Thank you. I promise to be very careful. God keep you well until we meet again." He moved on to the next lady in the circle, and Kitty to the next gentleman, whose identity, however, she could not have been certain of, had she been asked.

At breakfast the next morning, the empty place at the table seemed to loom rather sadly for Kitty, and she wondered if Mary felt the loss of Mr Sutcliffe's company keenly, or whether it was too early in their attachment for such feelings to emerge. Mary's calm demeanour seemed to suggest that she did not suffer from his absence, or else kept her feelings well hidden. Kitty sipped her tea slowly and pondered the excellent qualities which made Mr Sutcliffe such a pleasant addition to any gathering: his kindness, his ready wit, his ability to take an interest in any subject, his infallible courtesy; and thought sadly of how much poor Mary must, in her heart, regret his absence.

Miss Bingley came to breakfast, ate sparingly, and left the table soon after to write her letters. Mr and Mrs Hurst had not yet appeared, and Jane was with Alice still. Mr Bingley excused himself from the table quickly to join his wife in the nursery. As the others were conversing together, Kitty decided to cheer Mary, who was quietly occupied with her eggs and sausages, by allowing her to reminisce a little. "Mary, what was that book which you recommended to Mr Sutcliffe? Something about education?"

Mary turned to her in surprise. "Yes, a recent publication on the education of the lower classes. I mentioned it, as he took such an interest in my girls' school, and he said he intended to order a copy." She paused to sip her chocolate. "He also suggested that you might like some of Mr Swift's other writings, which I'm sure you can find at Clark's once we return home. I shall be glad to point out the titles for you, if you have forgotten them."

"Thank you." Kitty sighed a little at the thought of returning home to Hertfordshire, where poor Mary would be separated from Mr Sutcliffe for an even longer period. How long? She had no way of knowing how far their attachment had progressed, and could not estimate in advance. She shook aside these unhappy thoughts. "He took a great deal of interest in your work," she said encouragingly.

"Yes, in spite of his unfortunate tendency toward levity, he is a clergyman who takes his obligations toward the needy of his parish quite seriously."

Elizabeth overheard. "I heard much of their conversation. Mary has provided him with a great deal of helpful precedent, which he can apply to the people at Fardale."

"Has she indeed?" Mr Bennet said, looking up from his correspondence in hope of amusement. "Has Mary become leader of a great philanthropic movement?"

Elizabeth caught his eye. "Not great, perhaps, in the sense of widespread; but her efforts are significant. Mr Sutcliffe was extremely impressed with them. I do not exaggerate when I say he takes her work as an example for the future of his own parish."

Mr Bennet seemed to read something in Elizabeth's expression which caused him to change his manner somewhat. "Well, well, I'm sure he does."

Elizabeth went on, "Mr Sutcliffe said to me that he had never met a lady who had done so much single-handedly to assist the poor in her own neighbourhood, in so short a time, and with no expectation of personal reward. He hopes to sponsor a school like Mary's, but thinks it will likely take several years." Kitty had not heard of this plan, or of Mr Sutcliffe's praise of her sister, but nodded to herself at fresh evidence of attachment.

Mr Bennet accepted his daughter's silent exhortations, and finally exerted himself. "Yes, it is a most impressive feat, especially for so young a lady as our Mary. I jest about the matter, but naturally I recognize the hard work and determination that must have gone into, er, all this. Quite a boon to the less fortunate of our area, I'm sure, and shows great good will on Mary's part. It is a remarkable achievement, my dear, and I'm extremely proud of you."

He turned back to his letters, thinking his duty was done, and was startled at a gulping sound from Mary's place. "Thank you, Papa. Thank you so very much," she said, in an unsteady voice. He looked up to find her in tears, fairly choking with emotion and fumbling for a handkerchief. It was a shocking sight, for Mary had never been seen to cry since she was quite a child, certainly not for more than ten years. As she sobbed into her kerchief, awkwardly comforted by a startled Kitty, Mr Bennet caught Elizabeth's eye once more. For the second time in five years, his inadequacies as a father, and the harm done by his own detachment and amused disdain, were made painfully clear to him.


	30. Leisure Hours

_"It would be mortifying to the feelings of many ladies, could they be made to understand how little the heart of a man is affected by what is costly or new in their attire."  
>Northanger Abbey<em>

* * *

><p>Summer at Pemberley was too enjoyable to allow for gloom, and in spite of Kitty's continued sympathy with Mary's unspoken but presumed impatience to be reunited with Mr Sutcliffe, she was able to enjoy the fine weather, the daily walks and rides, and the pleasant company. She walked to the stables, on every day it did not rain, and looked in on Folly's puppies. She accompanied Elizabeth on her regular visits to any tenants who needed assistance, and in the process met again with Rose Plaskitt, still at the gatekeeper's cottage, but now looking well and happy, and remarkably pretty after recovering from her arduous travels. Kitty made a particular point of being polite to Rose, partly because she simply wished to, and partly as secret revenge for the critical comments made about her by some of the houseguests.<p>

During a private walk, Kitty remembered to mention to Elizabeth her last letter from Lydia, with its request for help in finding Mr Wickham a better position. "Perhaps you would rather not be involved in such an attempt," Kitty said apologetically, "but I thought it would do no harm to tell you what she had asked."

Elizabeth sighed. "You are right, I would _much_ rather not. It would mean asking Mr Darcy for assistance, and Mr Wickham is already such an albatross around his neck."

"An _albatross?_" Kitty exclaimed. "You mean the sea bird? How is Mr Wickham like an albatross - and around his neck?" Elizabeth digressed a moment to explain the expression, and its source in a book of poetry from the talented Mr Coleridge. "I see. Yes, I understand not wanting to ask for help. He resents Mr Wickham so much already."

"And was forced to become his brother through our marriage - not that he has ever expressed any regrets on that score, but I dislike it on his behalf. If I thought Mr Wickham, given a good position, would live up to the responsibility and change his manner of living, I would do what I could. But I am reluctant to take the trouble if it will be wasted in the end, and he will be where he is now in any case." She shook her head in irritation. "Do you know, Kitty, the amount of money that was given to Mr Wickham ought to have supported them perfectly well for years, or better still, to have provided him with a living of some sort. In rational hands, it would have."

"I understand. Even Lydia seemed surprised that the money was running out so fast." Sadly she added, "She still has no idea why the money was given. She called it her 'wedding present'."

Elizabeth saw her expression, and relented slightly. "I shall think it over. Perhaps there is a way to help without causing Mr Darcy undue annoyance."

"Thank you, Lizzy."

"Let Lydia thank me, if the situation should call for it," she said, smiling wryly.

When another spell of rain kept Kitty indoors, she went to the library in search of a new book, having finished _Gulliver's Travels_. Remembering Mr Sutcliffe's mention of other writings by Swift, she searched him out, and found a thin volume in a rough cloth binding. As an afterthought, she went to the shelves where the books of poetry were kept, and found a lovely leatherbound copy of Coleridge's_ Lyrical Ballads_. Taking both books with her to the music room, she sat while Georgiana practiced, and opened the book by Swift. She began reading the first item in the book: an essay entitled _A Modest Proposal_.

Kitty read to the end, her astonishment and horror increasing with every line. As she concluded, she sat and stared at the far wall, surprised to realize that Georgiana was still playing the same piece of music as when Kitty had started reading. After a moment's reflection, she read the essay a second time, and her astonishment was no less. A girl of any intelligence, brought up in the same household as Mr Bennet, could not help but be aware of the concept of satire. However, she had never seen satire used in quite this way. It fascinated her. Why would Mr Swift write of such a horrible plan, even in sarcasm? What was the object of the essay? What was its intended target? What, if anything, did it say about the morality of such a scheme, that no rational argument could be made against it?

Kitty felt that there was much of interest to be said, and thought, on this bit of writing, but she also felt some reluctance to discuss it with anyone present. To some she feared giving offense, for the subject matter was shocking; and from others feared appearing foolish. What she wanted, she realized, was to talk to Mr Sutcliffe. She recalled with a sigh how easy it was to talk to him of anything. He never scorned an honest question, or laughed at ignorance, or took mere curiosity as impertinence; and he took an equally happy interest in any topic, simple or scholarly. She had never realized quite how much she missed his conversation. Poor Mary, she thought, must feel quite forlorn; but again, perhaps their attachment had not yet reached the point where Mary would be truly unhappy with this separation, and with the sad, looming, much lengthier separation that would take place after her return to Longbourn.

Setting aside the volume of Swift, Kitty began to read the poetry of Coleridge, soon finding the reference to the albatross made clear. She finished reading the poem a minute or two before Georgiana concluded her practice for the day. "What a wonderful poem!" she exclaimed as Georgiana rose from the piano. "Terrible at times, but beautiful, too. Georgiana, have you read _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_?"

"Yes, and I thought it was masterful. Have you read more of the book? Then why not read some out to me?"

Kitty was happy to oblige, although she prefaced her reading with a warning that she was not adept and did not have a good voice for the purpose. Having finished The Nightingale and talked of it briefly, Georgiana indicated that she had letters to write which should not be put off. "Yes, I have one or two I should write as well," Kitty said, omitting the fact that one of them was to her sister Lydia.

It took some time to compose a letter, as it required such a degree of tact. Kitty had to let Lydia know that she had spoken of her request to Elizabeth, and yet carefully avoid giving her undue hope. She also tried to suggest that Mr Darcy was not disposed to provide any sort of help to Mr Wickham, and would only do so reluctantly and without any promise of further assistance, but without mentioning the strongest reasons for his animosity. She did her best to speak well of Mr Wickham, even with Georgiana and poor Rose Plaskitt in her thoughts, and the possibility of others like them existing around the country, unknown to herself. She tried to urge Lydia to practice thrift and find ways to make her income last, pointing out that any new position which might be offered to Mr Wickham would still provide merely a living, not a vast fortune, and to impart this advice in a way which would not be immediately laughed at and dismissed upon reading. Kitty went on to describe her time at Pemberley with the goal of avoiding anything which would cause envy or dissatisfaction, but might suggest the benefits of a more regular and unselfish way of life regardless of wealth. Finally, she wished Lydia well and encouraged her to write as often as she liked, if she felt the need of a sympathetic ear, while doing her best to refrain from any suggestion of trouble in her marriage or her home life. All in all, it was an exhausting letter to write, and took Kitty the better part of an hour.

Kitty gladly moved on to the simpler notes meant for Maria Lucas and her aunts, which she completed in a fraction of the time needed for Lydia's. She left the letters with the post in the front hall, encountering Elizabeth as she left. "I am just sending the first of the invitations for the ball," her sister told her, indicating a stack of sealed letters, "with more to come. It will be a large party, but not large enough to become uncomfortable. I dislike a crowded dance."

"So do I," Kitty agreed. Hesitantly, she added, "There will be many great and wealthy people there, I suppose?"

"Surely that does not frighten you?"

"No, not frighten me; but I wondered if my dress will be good enough."

"It has been some time since you had a new one," Elizabeth said, tactfully avoiding the question. "I'm sure you have money enough saved."

"Yes, but is there time to have one made?"

"Oh, yes. I have a dressmaker in town who is amazingly quick, and has six assistant seamstresses to hurry the work along, and I would be happy to take you to her."

"Can I afford her?" Kitty asked, assuming that Elizabeth now employed the services preferred by the first circles.

"If you provide the materials, I shall have the gown made as a present to you," Elizabeth said, brushing aside her thanks and suggesting they go to town immediately to ensure there was time to have the dress completed. Elizabeth sent for the carriage, pausing to write a short note and have it taken to her dressmaker, warning her to expect Mrs Darcy that day in need of a gown on short notice, and called on any ladies who wished to accompany them on a shopping excursion to make ready at once.

"In this rain?" Mrs Hurst exclaimed.

"What better day to spend inside shops, than a rainy one?" Elizabeth replied gaily. She made the same offer of a new gown to Mary, who declined, having recently obtained a new ball-gown with which she was quite content; but did accept Elizabeth's proposal to lend her any finery for the ball which might strike her fancy. Georgiana and Miss Bingley chose to come along, and were ready almost as soon as the carriage drove up. Elizabeth directed the driver to a shop in Lambton which she found reputable, and the ladies were soon discussing fabrics and colours, ribbons and sleeves, in great earnest. Kitty was a little uncomfortable having Miss Bingley present, for she always felt as if the lady found her rustic and unpolished, but Georgiana and Elizabeth were good company, and with their approval she felt quite confident in her choices. She left with a length of pale yellow silk and all the necessary trimmings. They proceeded directly to the dressmaker's shop, where they were received with a degree of courtesy Kitty understood to be directed at the mistress of Pemberley, and not normally offered to any three customers who happened to arrive. Kitty was quickly surrounded by the dressmaker's assistants. Measurements were taken, directions for the style of gown provided, and the proprietress requested Kitty return for a fitting in two days, following which, she swore with a solemnity suitable for an oath in a high court, the dress would be completed in the allotted time.

On arriving back at Pemberley, Elizabeth was spoken to quietly by her housekeeper and went immediately to the ballroom, a mischievous smile on her face. Kitty followed out of curiosity, and found a vast number of footmen and maids, all of them busy cleaning and dusting every surface, polishing windows and mirrors, and placing decorations. Observing the work were two men: Mr Spooner, and a much younger man who appeared slightly ill at ease. "Our new butler," Elizabeth whispered to Kitty. She nodded in understanding. The young man was being permitted to oversee and correct, acting as butler, but in keeping with a previous agreement, he was very much under the watchful eye and the _de facto_ authority of Mr Spooner until such time as he was deemed ready to work independently. "It will be a difficult apprenticeship for him," Kitty whispered back, and Elizabeth nodded, smiling.

Kitty occupied herself happily enough for the afternoon. Alice had been brought to the small drawing room, where Miss Bingley spent a minute or two expressing her enchantment with her niece and her great affection for children, before leaving the room. Kitty and Georgiana enjoyed playing with the baby until she began to rub her eyes and whimper, and was taken off for her nap. Some entertainment was then provided by Baron, Mr Darcy's favourite pointer, who was given the run of the house, and was willing to engage in play of a sedate and dignified kind. He permitted himself to be petted, and having become familiar enough with Kitty, deigned to trot across the room to fetch a ball of ribbon she tossed, carry it back to her, and place it in her lap, and to repeat this task as often as she liked. This game so endeared her to Baron, that he ultimately unbent enough to roll over on his back and allow both girls to pet his belly. As they finally rose to leave, the pointer returned to his stately position on the hearthrug, watching them walk away, until he seemed to make a sudden decision, leapt to his feet and followed them. He continued to follow after them through the day, only abandoning the ladies when Mr Darcy returned to the house.

Mary could be heard to conclude her practice on the piano, and when Georgiana took her turn at the instrument, Kitty joined the other guests in the sitting room, where she finished the second volume of Coleridge's poetry, then wandered, verses running through her head, to the library to return it and find something new. She was not greatly surprised to find her father there.

He reluctantly looked up from his book as she entered. "Ah! Hello, child. Imagine finding you here in the library, of all places." He recalled, too late, that he had resolved to avoid these barbed comments toward his daughters.

She laughed, not taking offense. "It is no surprise finding _you_ here, Papa."

"Well, well...I suppose it is no longer so unusual in your case, as you have been doing a great deal of reading these past months."

"Yes, I suppose I have," she said absently, having replaced her volume of poetry and begun scanning the shelves for its replacement.

Mr Bennet set his own book aside and exerted himself. "Are you still reading history?"

"Not just now. I felt as if I needed a rest from history, and have been reading fiction and poetry. I just finished Gulliver's Travels."

"An enjoyable story."

"Yes, I liked it very well." For a moment, Kitty thought of asking her father his opinion on A Modest Proposal, for she knew few people as well read, and was sure he could offer some insights; but their past relations, and a wariness of being found ridiculous, left her reluctant to introduce the subject. Mr Bennet saw her hesitation, if not the thoughts being held in reserve, and felt yet another pinprick of regret at being the likely reason his daughter shrank from confiding in him.

"No doubt Mary was available to discuss the book with you," he suggested, taking an indirect approach.

"Yes, she was. Mary has read _everything_."

"Very nearly," he agreed. "Do you know, I think I have been rather unjust to Mary." Kitty looked surprised. "I have ignored and undervalued the fine work she has been doing at home, simply because...well, perhaps because I have been in the habit of ignoring and undervaluing everything she does. I'm afraid it has wounded her, more than I realized."

Kitty was astonished at this uncharacteristic confession. "I think she was very happy to hear you were proud of her, Papa. It was good of you to praise her, even if it _was_ because Lizzy pressed you to."

Her quite accurate observation took Mr Bennet aback. "Yes, er...do you think Mary realized that was the reason?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Good. To be very candid, Mary's attitude and manner regarding her charitable efforts strike me as droll; but that is no excuse for mocking the work itself. She should not - _any_ of my daughters should not - avoid expressing themselves to their own father, for fear of being made the butt of his jokes." Kitty said nothing, and kept her eyes on the floor, but her expression told him that his assumptions were correct. "Some of your sisters have pointed out how greatly you have grown and improved, but I have not acknowledged it, because of my preferred habit of seeing you as a laughable, hoyden child. It is a wrench to give up such a pleasant pursuit..." He was relieved to see a slight smile of amusement on Kitty's face at this. "...but I can manage it if I must, when the occasion demands it. My point is, my dear, you may feel free to confide in me, should anything be troubling you, should you require help, instruction, or even an additional opinion. I promise to refrain from making sport of what you say; and if I _do_ forget, remind me of today's promise."

"All right, Papa. Thank you." Impulsively, Kitty put her arms around his neck and hugged him.

Mrs Bennet's voice could be heard approaching the room. "...where else would he be but the library? At home or visiting, it is always the same!" The door opened and she looked in, Mrs Hurst beside her. "Mr Bennet! You are needed to make up a fourth at whist, for nobody else will play, and Mr Hurst is longing for a game. Do come, you've been in here for hours! It is very rude, you know, to coop yourself up like this when you are a guest in someone's home. Kitty, what are _you_ doing here?" she added, finally noticing her daughter's presence.

"Kitty is looking for another book to read," Mr Bennet firmly pronounced, rising from his chair. "She has become a prolific reader of late, and is not ashamed to have it widely known. Well, let us go, Mrs Bennet, and relieve Mr Hurst of his money." He set his book aside and departed, leaving Kitty alone in the library.

Unsure of what new subject to pursue, Kitty wandered along the shelves, examining books at random, until she recalled a passing remark made by Mr Hurst. He had jokingly accused Mr Sutcliffe of trying to make 'Latitude-something' out of them all, intending it to refer to people whose beliefs made much of giving alms. Mary had supplied the term Latitudinarians. From there, here mind returned to the lengthy supper-table conversation with Mr Sutcliffe, in which he explained the diverse views present within the Church of England. She had never taken much interest in such matters, but his explanations gave life and significance to the subject.

Moving to the shelves which held books on a religious theme, she looked through them until she found one which described the Latitudinarians, along with other clerical schools of thought. It also discussed relations with Catholics and Non-Conformists, she saw as the looked through the pages, and even, rather startlingly, with Jews and Mohammedans and other such unthought-of persons. She paused, realizing that she might lack a foundation on which to base this information, and considered whether a more systematic programme of reading might be best. She looked again through the same shelves, and found a volume which outlined the formal teachings of the church. It appeared to be a schoolbook, no doubt one Mr Darcy had kept from his youth, and Kitty thought this might be exactly what her lack of information required. She chose the schoolbook to start; proposed to go on to a slightly more advanced book which discussed differing views on doctrine, morality, and liturgical practice; and finally, if she felt up to it, to read the volume which dealt with the modern sectarian factions. At the back of her mind was a vague thought of Mr Sutcliffe, of the fact that this was his life's work, and of how much she might have to discuss with him when she saw him again. She set the three books aside, sat down in the chair her father had abandoned, and opened the first.

Kitty's gown was ready, as promised, when she and Elizabeth returned to the dressmaker's shop for the final visit. She tried it on with the help of the shop assistants, finding it fit perfectly, and turned toward the tall mirror against one wall. Elizabeth knocked to enter the dressing room. "May I see how it looks?" she asked, and Kitty turned toward her. "Oh, lovely! It suits you very well, Kitty!"

Kitty turned back to the mirror, smiling. The dress, following the design Elizabeth had urged Kitty to accept, was perfect for her, making her slight figure seem less thin and more graceful. She looked slender and fairylike rather than merely small. The ornamentation was made proportionately small and delicate as well, so that she did not appear engulfed by her dress, which had sometimes happened when she was led by Lydia's taste. "I'm very happy with it," Kitty said to the dressmaker. "I've never had a dress I liked so well."

The lady displayed her dimples, happily accepted payment from Elizabeth, and offered to wrap the dress so that they could take it with them immediately. "For I am given to understand," she simpered, "that the ladies have a particular event to prepare for."

"Yes, we'll take it with us, thank you," Elizabeth said. Kitty indulged in one last look in the mirror before removing the gown.


	31. Cordial Relations

_"Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken."_  
><em>Jane Austen, <span>Emma<span>_

* * *

><p>The day before the Pemberley ball, some of the more distant guests, who would be staying at the house for at least a day or two, began to arrive. The vast number of servants, which had often seemed to Kitty excessive even for so large a house, made more sense as the bedrooms began to fill with ladies and gentlemen. She was pleased to find that Mr Thomas Ogden, Mr Sutcliffe's friend from London, had been invited, and would stay on a few days. Mr and Mrs Gardiner also arrived early in the day, energetic and in good spirits following their journey, having left their children at home for the occasion, and Kitty took great pleasure in their reunion. Elizabeth showed them to their accommodations herself, and spent some time closeted with Mrs Gardiner before reappearing, making Kitty wonder if there were secrets abroad in the house.<p>

Dinner was held in the large dining hall in the same wing as the ballroom, rather than the room normally used for family meals, and was more lavish and elegant than usual as well. Just before dinner, introductions were made where necessary, and although Kitty did not remember everyone's name, she took in the fact that the dignified grey-haired gentleman was Mr Darcy's great-uncle, a prominent judge, accompanied by his much younger wife, two pretty and elegant daughters of about sixteen or seventeen years, named Phoebe and Isabel, and a boy of no more than fourteen, named Oliver. The dinner was overseen by Mr Culpepper, the provisional butler, in turn supervised by Mr Spooner, who remained quietly in a corner but alert to any possible fault in the service. Kitty had never taken examinations at school, but she felt it must be rather like Mr Culpepper's situation, and she silently wished him good luck.

During the course of the meal, Kitty was able to sort out, by means of listening to others' conversations, what connection some of the guests had to each other or to the Darcys. The pleasant, soft-spoken gentleman introduced as Lord Wentworth was, she became aware, the elder brother of Colonel Fitzwilliam - the brother who had inherited their father's estate in full, leaving Colonel Fitzwilliam to make his way in the army. He was an unmarried man of good fortune, as well as the eldest son of an earl, with whom Miss Bingley took every opportunity of speaking and making herself agreeable.

Kitty found herself seated between young Oliver, who was far more interested in his food than in conversation, and Mr Bennet, who quietly watched and listened, making his own assessment of the guests and finding interest and amusement where he could. Kitty drank her soup, smiling to herself at the observation she and Mr Sutcliffe had several times shared, that a good meal could do a great deal to compensate for dull company. Deprived of conversation, Kitty determined to follow her father's example, and she let her attention unobtrusively move from one conversation to another. She watched Miss Bingley attempt to ingratiate herself with Lord Wentworth, but saw no sign of great success. As her eyes scanned the room, she noticed Mr Culpepper stop himself from walking between a footman and the table, and glance uneasily at Mr Spooner, who had, of course, noticed the narrowly missed _faux pas_. Impulsively, thinking the observation would be to his taste, she leaned toward her father. "Mr Culpepper is on trial. Did you see him nearly make a mistake just now?"

"On trial?" Mr Bennet repeated, looking at her curiously.

"Yes, the old butler, Mr Spooner, insisted on his replacement having a trial period. See how he watches poor Mr Culpepper like a hawk, from his perch in a corner of the room?"

Mr Bennet looked amused. "I do, indeed. It must be quite intimidating for the young man. What mistake did he make, or nearly make?"

Kitty described it. "Mr Spooner noticed, too. If Mr Culpepper does well today, he will serve as butler at the ball tomorrow. If he errs too seriously, he continues his period of apprenticeship."

"Indeed! And how did you discover all this?"

"Lizzy told me."

"Ah. What do you think of young Culpepper's chances? Would you place good money on his being on duty tomorrow night, and continuing afterward; or will he lose his nerve and commit an unpardonable misstep before our meal is finished?"

"I have faith in Mr Culpepper. He seems to have nerves of steel, and hasn't given way to panic so far, even with Mr Spooner standing over him like a vulture, waiting for him to fail." Mr Bennet chuckled at the comparison. "I believe he will succeed."

"That is easy enough to say, with nothing to lose. Is your confidence strong enough to back your favourite? For I believe few young men can maintain their aplomb under the unceasing glare of a butler of several decades' experience. I'm sure I could never do it, myself."

"I will wager a shilling that Mr Culpepper will not only serve at the ball tomorrow, but will be pronounced acceptable as Pemberley's new butler," Kitty declared.

"Done! I shall be pleased to take your money. Observe the movement of Mr Spooner's eyebrows, Kitty! Observe his steely gaze! Your young pretender doesn't stand a chance."

"We shall see," she said calmly.

Mr Bennet laughed appreciatively. "What other life and death struggles do you observe taking place at our table? Or am I taking too much of your attention from your other dinner partner?"

Kitty glanced over at Oliver, who was happily devouring his fish. "I think his attention is engaged."

"So I see," he said, smiling. "And I have no other demands on my society," he added, nodding to Miss Isabel, who was whispering and giggling with her sister, and oblivious to anyone else.

Kitty lowered her voice still more. "Miss Bingley is trying to charm Lord Wentworth, but I think he wants no part of it."

"Her arrow has missed the mark, has it? Do you deduce another object of his attention?"

"I don't think he likes anybody else. He just does not like Miss Bingley particularly."

"An important distinction. Well, the ball will give other ladies a chance to make their shot. Will you try for him, Kitty? A wealthy earl does not turn up every day. Your mother would certainly be delighted at the prospect." He glanced at Mrs Bennet, who had been rendered innocuous to the family's reputation by being drawn into a conversation with Jane and Mr Gardiner.

"No, I think not." She pondered a moment. "Would it make _you_ happy, Papa?"

Mr Bennet was rather startled by the question, apparently asked in all seriousness. He repressed an impulse to answer jokingly, and replied, "What would make me happy, for you as for all your sisters, is that you have a husband who treats you well, and whom you can like and respect. Wealth, beyond having a tolerably comfortable living, is secondary in my mind to that consideration."

"Two of your daughters, at least, have achieved what you hoped for." He assented. "Although," she added more soberly, "_one_ of them has not."

Mr Bennet seemed to study her. "You were a great advocate of Lydia's alliance, from what I recall."

Kitty looked down at the table. "Yes, but I know better now." She turned her attention back to her meal.

"I am sorry if the realization was a painful one," Mr Bennet said, attempting to be kind, but still perplexed at such protracted blindness to what he regarded as obvious facts.

"It is dreadful," she said quietly.

Mr Bennet, trying to give this rare moment of affinity its due, replied, "Yes, it is dreadful. My own neglect was to blame. Lydia should not have found herself in such a situation, had I done what I should as a father."

Kitty looked surprised. "You have always been a good father, Papa."

"No," he said firmly, "I have not. But at least I have come to realize it at last. In any case, this is not the time or place to discuss it. Besides, my attention is called for elsewhere. I see that your postulant butler is preparing to carve the joint, and this delicate task may prove his undoing. Your shilling is as good as mine, Kitty."

She smiled and whispered back, "I have great confidence in Mr Culpepper. Look, Mr Spooner is already less on his guard. All is well."

The meal did, in fact, continue without the slightest mishap. Once the roast was served, the boy to her right had sated his appetite to the point where he was ready for conversation, and Kitty obligingly talked to him about dogs and food, the two interests they seemed to have in common; while Mr Bennet amused himself in his usual way, by making the young lady to his left laugh without suspecting that she was the victim of his subtle sarcasm.

After dinner, Kitty joined the other ladies in the drawing room, where she took up the book she had begun, reading through the descriptions of multiple conflicting church philosophies and trying to grasp the ideas behind each of them. Soft music began to drift in from the music room, where Georgiana had retired after dinner. Mary took a seat near Kitty, taking note of the book she was reading. "An unusual choice. Are you interested in church schisms in general?"

"Well...not precisely, although some of it is interesting. I began reading it to find out what Mr Hurst meant by calling some of us Latitudinarians - or tried to mean, for he did not know the word."

Mary smiled a little at this. "He also did not realize how common these views are, although today under other names. Although not officially sanctioned, it is perhaps the most usual philosophy within the present day Church of England."

Previous conversations with Mr Sutcliffe allowed Kitty to understand most of the explanation which followed. "Mr Sutcliffe seemed to agree with the idea of tolerating other people's beliefs, but not with the unimportance of church services. He conducts very beautiful services, although I think some find them too..." She could not find the precise word she wanted.

"No, Mr Sutcliffe may be called distinctly high church in such matters, although I believe he would approve of the Latitudinarian attitude to almsgiving."

"Yes, that makes sense. He is very conscious of the duty to be charitable to the poor - just as you are."

"The author Mrs Radcliffe is a staunch Latitudinarian," Mary informed her, attempting to repay the compliment by finding common ground.

"What! Ann Radcliffe, the novel writer?"

"Yes. Her beliefs may have influenced her writing to some extent."

This was a compelling idea for Kitty, who had barely considered that the novels she enjoyed might have content which was affected, for good or ill, by the convictions of their authors. It was a connection between fiction and reality, a way of arguing for one's convictions indirectly, that she found intriguing. She talked to Mary a few more minutes before she was distracted by a discussion centred around Jane and Mr Bingley. Mr Bingley had received word that his and Jane's new home was suitable for habitation, and he hoped to move in shortly. Kitty set her book aside and took up her work so that she might listen. "That is good news!" she whispered to Mary.

"Yes, but I shall miss Jane being a close neighbour, once we return to Hertfordshire," she replied in the same low tone.

"Oh, that is true! We will not see so much of her, and of little Alice," Kitty said, saddened at the thought. "But she will visit, and have us come to visit her. We would still see her often, I hope."

As the coffee was being served, the sound of an approaching carriage could be heard through the open windows. A few minutes later, the door to the room opened and three visitors were announced. Two of them, a married couple, were introduced as Mr and Mrs Spencer. Kitty studied them discreetly: a fair-haired lady, strikingly tall and well proportioned, tolerably handsome, and with an air of cheerful confidence; and an even taller gentleman, well dressed but with the complexion of a man who spends much time outdoors, who greeted them all with unaffected courtesy and the same easy assurance as his wife. Kitty somehow liked the way they looked and acted together, their silent communication with one another; she had a sense that they were a harmonious couple, like her sister and Mr Darcy.

The gentleman who entered the room behind them caused Kitty to start and almost drop her work, for his resemblance to Mr Sutcliffe made her think, for an instant, that her friend had changed his plans and arrived a day early. The footman announced him as Mr Edwin Sutcliffe, which made her wonder if the servant himself had misheard the name, or confused the gentleman with a previous visitor. She found herself staring at the new guest, until she recollected herself and looked away. Listening to a few minutes' conversation was enough to explain the matter, for it appeared that this new Mr Sutcliffe was, in fact, the elder brother of the more familiar Mr Henry Sutcliffe, and Mrs Spencer his sister.

She took a more careful look at the newly arrived, senior Mr Sutcliffe, when she could do so without being observed. On closer examination, he was taller but of a different build than his younger brother, and there were distinct differences between the faces of the two men. He also had brown eyes, very different from the expressive green eyes Kitty remembered so well. It was only the thick chestnut hair and the overall shape of the face that had struck her with its similarity. His manner in company, she soon recognized, was quite different from his brother's. Mr Edwin Sutcliffe was fashionable, skilled at polite conversation, and given to clever _bon mots_ rather than spontaneous humour relating to the subject at hand. He smiled a great deal, was gallant to the ladies and cordial to the gentlemen, saw nothing to disagree with and nothing of which to disapprove. Kitty could not find the slightest fault with his manners, but as time passed, found herself with no better understanding of his character than when he had entered the room.

She turned her attention to Mr Sutcliffe's sister and brother in law. Mr Spencer was involved in a conversation with Mr Bennet, which seemed to engross them both, but which Kitty had difficulty making out. There seemed to be mention of snails and limpets, and a series of Latin phrases, which led Kitty to assume she was mishearing. Mrs Spencer, meanwhile, was speaking to Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, with whom she seemed acquainted, and Kitty managed to overhear them comparing notes on their respective journeys to France.

Kitty returned her attention to the elder Mr Sutcliffe, who was engaged in an animated discussion of fox hunting with Mr Hurst. "Do you notice the resemblance between Mr Sutcliffe and his brother?" she asked Mary in an undertone.

"Yes, there is some family likeness, I think. His sister does not look at all like him, however. Perhaps she favours the other parent. The mechanism by which traits such as appearance are passed on is not well understood. It would make a fascinating study, should someone of appropriate background find a way to investigate the process."

"No doubt." Kitty was distracted from eavesdropping by this novel idea. "How would somebody manage to do that?"

Before Mary could reply, Mr Edwin Sutcliffe rose from his seat to place his coffee cup on the tray, passing close by them in the process. He paused before returning to his chair, and turned toward them. "I beg your pardon, ladies; I think you must be the younger sisters of our hostess, are you not? Miss Mary and Miss Catherine Bennet?" They indicated that he was correct. "I'm charmed to meet you both at last, for my sister and I have heard a great deal of good concerning Mrs Darcy's sisters, from my brother Henry." He seemed to study them rather carefully as he spoke.

Kitty smiled at Mary, thinking she must be pleased to hear that Mr Sutcliffe had already hinted at his preference to his near relations.

"Thank you, Sir," Mary said, with composure that Kitty found commendable. "My sister and I are honoured to make your acquaintance."

"I'm so glad you were able to come for the ball," Kitty added. She noticed that the sister, Mrs Spencer, had observed their conversation and was frequently looking in their direction.

"I would not have missed it for any cause, I assure you. I rarely see my brother in elevated society, so it is quite a rare treat for me. He is more often dealing with the people at his little church, and it is the lowliest of them who seem to require the most attention." He laughed genially. "I have even brought along his instrument, unknown to him, so that we might have a chance to see him play in company, which is also a rarity."

"His instrument?" Kitty repeated.

"Yes. Did you not know that my brother plays the violin? Well, there are some things he likes to keep to himself. There are some fine musicians present here, I understand, who can accompany him, so I may urge him to exert himself for once." Kitty nodded to herself, understanding him to mean that Mary's musical ability had been praised by Mr Sutcliffe, and that his brother meant to give them an opportunity to play together.

"Not everyone is comfortable with public performance," Mary replied, "but I hope Mr Sutcliffe will overcome his reserve on this occasion."

"I hope he may, and I shall certainly urge him to do so. Ladies, it is a delight to be in your gracious company, and I hope we shall have the chance to become better acquainted." He bowed handsomely and returned to his seat.

Kitty noticed his sister smiling at them oddly, almost as though in apology. Mrs Spencer spoke to Elizabeth, then the two of them crossed the room to sit near Mary and Kitty. "Mrs Spencer asked me to introduce you," Elizabeth explained. "My sisters, Mary and Catherine Bennet."

"It's very good to meet you both at last," Mrs Spencer said, smiling at them and offering her hand to each. "My brother Henry has spoken very highly of you, and I have been looking forward to finally seeing you in person. What lovely young ladies you both are! I see a resemblance to your elder sisters, I think."

"Thank you," Mary said. "We were just saying how much your brothers resemble each other."

"In appearance only," she laughed. "In character, they are as unlike as day and night."

"Are they really? Which of the two are _you_ most like?" Kitty asked. She began to apologize for the forwardness of the question, but Mrs Spencer brushed her concerns aside.

"I am likely not the best judge. Perhaps you can give me your opinion on the subject once we know each other better." Kitty returned her smile, liking Mrs Spencer immediately, and already inclined to find her manner more similar to her younger brother's. "May I introduce my husband?" she asked, catching Mr Spencer's eye. The ladies readily agreed, although Kitty rather wondered at the particular attention being given to Mary and herself, over anyone else in the room.

Mr Spencer excused himself from the conversation with Mr Bennet and crossed the room, bowing genially as he was presented to Mary and Kitty. "How pleasant to finally meet you both!" he exclaimed, just as his wife had done. "I was just enjoying a very stimulating discussion with your father. He takes a slight interest in botany, my dear, and I promised to send him a copy of my last monograph."

"Mr Spencer is an amateur student of the natural world," Mrs Spencer explained. "It is a passion of his. He has written some well regarded studies, which have been placed in the library at Oxford."

"That is quite impressive!" Mary exclaimed. "Do you conduct your own research?"

"Oh, yes, for the most part." Kitty half noticed that Mr Edwin Sutcliffe had risen from his chair and was strolling casually about the room, seeming to follow a conversation at the far end, but also, she fancied, attending to their present discussion with the Spencers.

"It requires being outdoors and tracking through the mud on a regular basis," Mrs Spencer laughed.

"Mrs Spencer assists me with my research and my notes, as well as providing the inspiration and perspective without which my work would be a tedious muddle of disjointed facts. She is responsible for any successful publications I can claim."

"What is it you write about?" Kitty asked. This occasioned a fairly long explanation of his studies, with a particularly detailed description of his examination of the organisms found in tidal pools. Kitty had never found much to interest her in such a subject, but was fascinated in spite of herself by Mr Spencer's animated discussion of the mysteries of these small sea creatures. Mary asked well informed questions, while Kitty, aware of her unfamiliarity with natural science, spoke only when her curiosity impelled her. Mr Spencer finally brought his explanation to an end, with the air of a man who had much more to say, but held back for fear of tiring his listeners. "It seems as if there is no end to what can be discovered, even about these simple little animals," Kitty marveled.

"The more I study the matter, the more I am convinced that nothing living is truly simple. It is all infinitely complex. The entire natural world is, I believe, full of endless information. We have barely begun to examine the first layer, and can scarcely imagine what new revelations are in store for us."

Kitty found this a marvelously exciting idea, and exclaimed over it, wishing for the first time that she knew more about the study of nature; although Mary merely nodded and agreed that these questions held considerable material for future scholars. Mrs Spencer, at this point, politely withdrew from the conversation, saying that she ought to speak to some of her other acquaintances, and Mr Spencer did likewise, both of them warmly remarking on how much they had enjoyed their conversation. Elizabeth also rose from her seat, murmuring that she would try to persuade Georgiana to leave her piano and join them, and a minute later the piece of music they had been hearing concluded, and Georgiana quietly entered, blushed at the praise some of the company called out for her performance, and quickly took a seat beside Kitty. Mary immediately rose and took her own turn at the piano, a tactful and hastily whispered request from Elizabeth directing her to more suitable and less obtrusive music than she might choose on her own. Kitty talked quietly with Georgiana, noticing as she did that Mr Edwin Sutcliffe continued to slowly pace the room, his gaze following Mary as she walked away, then turning thoughtfully from Kitty to Mr and Mrs Bennet, all the while continuing to converse with others as though there were nothing in the world to distract his attention.


	32. A Full House

_"Guests bring good luck with them."  
>Turkish Proverb<em>

* * *

><p>Breakfast the following morning seemed peculiar to Kitty, filled with the anticipation of that evening's ball, but also full of vague suggestions of private schemes, unspoken concerns, and secret collaborations. Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner continued to whisper together, their faces serious. Miss Bingley worked with her sister to maximize the amount of contact she had with those she had identified as eligible bachelors, and to appear to advantage during these encounters, however brief or insignificant; and seemed quite triumphant when she managed to be seated beside Lord Wentworth at the breakfast table. Mr Spooner continued to watch Mr Culpepper, once or twice murmuring a few words in Mr Darcy's ear as he did so. Nothing in the butler's expression indicated whether he praised or condemned his apprentice, but Mr Bennet gave Kitty a significant look each time it occurred, as though to revel in his imminent victory, making her smile and causing Mr Sutcliffe to covertly study them both. The elder Mr Sutcliffe continued, in fact, to closely observe not only Mary and Kitty, but the entire Bennet family, all the while carrying on light conversation with the other guests, and replying to Miss Bingley whenever she spoke to him, with a courtesy that nourished her hopes considerably.<p>

Kitty had received one letter, from Maria Lucas, which she read at breakfast. Along with the usual news of family and neighbourhood, it outlined positive developments in the relations between Maria and Mr Sallow, which led Maria to the virtual certainty that an offer of marriage was to be expected shortly. At one time, Kitty could only have seen such news as cause for celebration. Now, although she was cautiously pleased for Maria, she could not help but wish she knew what Mr Alfred Sallow's housekeeper might have to say about the gentleman.

The day was cool for the time of year, which was noted with approval and multiple remarks on how unpleasant balls can become in warm weather. After breakfast, Kitty set out on her usual walk, this time with several companions, including Georgiana, the Spencers, and the judge's two daughters, although Elizabeth remained behind, fully occupied with final preparations for the evening's event. Mr Spencer broke away from the party almost as soon as they had left the house, hastily apologizing as he went, on learning that a substantial lake and a very ancient stand of woods was on the property, and his wife watched his departure with an indulgent smile. "He can never resist an opportunity to examine unfamiliar natural terrain," she explained to the others.

"Mr Spencer's dedication to his field of study is admirable," Mary replied. "It must make great demands on his time."

"A wife can learn to allow for that - or even come to share his interest, and participate in it, as I do to some extent." Kitty did not closely attend, as she had arrived at the stables, and ran ahead of the others to get a glimpse of the puppies. They were by now past their blind and helpless early infancy, and were walking about the stall, playing together and occasionally attempting to climb out of their enclosure. Kitty found the puppies more charming than ever, and young Phoebe and Isabel exclaimed in delight over them. "What will become of them when they are grown?" Isabel asked, cradling one in her arms.

"One will be kept here, and the rest sent to other homes," Kitty told her. "I believe two or three have already been promised." Some happy moments were spent in playing with them and in offering Folly treats reserved from the breakfast table for the purpose. They continued on their walk as far as the nearest part of the lake, where Mrs Spencer parted with them in order to join her husband, who was stooped over, peering at the shoreline and getting his shoes wet at the edge of the water; and the other ladies turned back.

When they arrived back at the house, they found new faces and a quiet but brisk movement of servants, for guests who had some little distance to travel had begun to arrive, allowing themselves time to rest and prepare for the ball at their leisure. Kitty saw her aunt and uncle, newly arrived from London, descend from their room, and she hurried to greet them. She recognized Sir Joseph and Lady Wainwright from a previous visit, and replied to their cordial greeting as well. Lady Wainwright took a moment to present her elder brother, Mr Andrew Gaveston, a man in his thirties with a hawk-like face but the same good humour as his sister, in a more sedate form.

Having replied to the introductions, Georgiana slipped away to the comparative seclusion of the music room, and Kitty, turning to follow her, came face to face with Mr Henry Sutcliffe, also newly arrived. "Miss Bennet! How good to see you again," he said, bowing. "And you, Miss Darcy." Kitty only curtsied in reply, finding herself momentarily at a loss for words. Her only thoughts at the moment were that Mr Sutcliffe did not, after all, so closely resemble his brother, but was of an appearance quite unmistakable and distinct from that of any other man. Georgiana paused an instant in her playing to greet him before continuing with the piece she had begun.

Mary entered the room and found a seat, possibly awaiting her turn at the keyboard; and a moment later Mr Edwin Sutcliffe followed. "Well, Henry, you've found your way here at last! I wondered if you would arrive in time. My brother," he confided to Mary, "is late for engagements shockingly often, especially on Sundays, for he allows himself to be delayed by his church people at the slightest whim." He smiled at Miss Bingley, who had just then entered the room, and was more than willing to share the gentleman's amusement at his brother's quirks.

"It could not be helped," his brother replied, a little stiffly. "My presence was required." The other only shook his head as if in friendly disdain.

"Mr Sutcliffe is far from being late for the ball," Kitty added, feeling moved to defend him.

"No, I will grant you that; and I suppose one must make allowances for the demands of his profession." His tone of voice in mentioning his brother's _profession_ remained slightly dismissive.

"A clergyman must often allow parish responsibilities to take the place of personal commitments, I believe," Mary put in, "for his obligations to his congregation are of a peculiar kind. One might call them debts of honour, in a more literal sense than is commonly intended by that term." She seemed rather pleased with herself for that analogy.

"Well put, Miss Bennet," Mr Henry Sutcliffe told her politely, causing his brother to smirk at him.

"Now that you are here, Henry, why not at least make yourself agreeable? Here, look what I've brought along with me." He reached under a chair and took out a violin case, causing a look or surprise and displeasure. "I'm sure you would appreciate some accompaniment, Miss Darcy?"

Mr Henry Sutcliffe seemed prepared to refuse, but Georgiana said timidly, "It would be gratifying to play with another musician, Mr Sutcliffe. I seldom have such an opportunity."

"Yes, do play, Mr Sutcliffe!" Kitty exclaimed. "I would very much like to hear you; and you are among friends here, so it does not matter in the least if you are not a great musician."

"There, Henry! You cannot disappoint the ladies. Can she, Miss Bingley?"

"No, indeed! It would be most ungallant, Sir!" Miss Bingley replied gaily.

"Very well," Mr Sutcliffe said mildly. He accepted the violin and began preparing the bow. "What shall we play, Miss Darcy?" They chose music, and Mr Sutcliffe allowed Georgiana to play a few bars before he took up his instrument and began to accompany her. Kitty took a seat beside Mary, fascinated by the music produced. He seemed to play effortlessly, and yet followed Georgiana's playing perfectly, ornamenting and enhancing it beautifully. Georgiana smiled, pleased by the effect of the two instruments together, and when the piece of music ended, quickly suggested a second.

"He is most proficient," she whispered very quietly in Mary's ear, "or am I mistaken?" She recognized that she knew nothing of music, but felt certain that this playing was more than capable, and seemed to show great feeling as well as skill.

Mary shook her head, watching the musicians closely. "Not mistaken at all," she whispered back just as quietly. Several of the guests, drawn by the distant music, began to enter the music room, and Georgiana turned pink at the unfamiliar presence of an audience beyond her immediate family. When the second melody ended and those present requested more, Georgiana suggested that another lady might take a turn. "Miss Bennet, would you care to play?" she asked, holding out her hand hopefully toward Mary. Mary was always eager for an opportunity to display her accomplishments, and gratefully took her place at the pianoforte.

She presented Mr Sutcliffe with a sheet of music, a lengthy concerto whose main value was its intricacy, useful for demonstrating the pianist's aptitude. "I must beg you, Miss Bennet," he said with a smile, "to choose something simpler for my sake. I am woefully out of practice." Kitty very much doubted that he wanted practice, and suspected it was his courteous way of refusing Mary's first selection; once again, she admired Mr Sutcliffe's gift for tact. Mary obligingly selected a popular favourite, which she played accurately but with her usual lack of feeling; however, Mr Sutcliffe's violin accompaniment gave such life to the piece, that it earned applause Mary had rarely received before. She happily accepted Mr Sutcliffe's choice of music for the second part of their performance, which was as warmly approved as the first.

"Remarkable," Kitty heard a voice say from close beside her. It was the hawk-nosed uncle of Lady Wainwright. "That is your brother on the violin, is it not, Mrs Spencer? He seems to be a natural musician."

"Yes, he has always played beautifully, even as a little boy," she answered, looking fondly on her younger brother.

"His sensitive nature makes him a true musician," Mr Edwin Sutcliffe remarked, with the same faintly derisive tone he had used before when speaking of his brother, "just as it makes him well suited to the role of clergyman. He must appreciate this chance to accompany Miss Bennet. It cannot happen often, for there is no pianoforte in the parsonage, and may never be." He turned to Kitty with a laugh. "Some ladies would find it intolerable to live in a house with no pianoforte, and I'm certain Miss Catherine Bennet is one. Your sister would find it unacceptable, would she not, Miss Mary?"

Kitty was about to correct him, when his sister broke in, "Edwin, what are you saying? Miss _Mary_ Bennet has been playing. This is Miss _Catherine_ Bennet."

"Yes," Kitty agreed, smiling to show she took no offence at the mistake. "And you are right, my sister Mary would hate to be long without her music."

The elder Mr Sutcliffe barely seemed to hear her. He looked from Kitty, to Mary, to his sister as though taken up with rapid speculation. "Do you mean to tell me," he demanded of Mrs Spencer, "that _this_ lady is Miss Catherine Bennet?"

"Yes, to be sure!"

He continued to look from one Bennet sister to the other. "Well, that is...most interesting." He seemed to recall his manners, and added, "I beg your pardon, Miss _Catherine_ Bennet, for the mistake."

"Oh, it is nothing at all," she assured him, wondering at his reaction.

Miss Bingley, seeing that both Mr Edwin Sutcliffe and Lord Wentworth were present in the room, readily accepted the invitation to take her turn at playing, and performed brilliantly. Mr Sutcliffe's accompaniment became simpler and more inconspicuous, allowing the lady's superior ability to take prominence. Kitty was struck by the way he could modulate his playing to suit the other musician perfectly, and wondered how he would play if there were no other instrument.

When the music concluded, the party began to divide into conversational groups. Mr Henry Sutcliffe approached the place where Mary, Kitty, and Georgiana sat together, but was forestalled by his elder brother requiring his attention. With a look of annoyance, he let himself be led away. Kitty excused herself to write some letters before tea-time. She sat down at the desk in the breakfast room and penned a short letter to Maria Lucas. She offered warm congratulations and hopes that her friend's expectations may be fulfilled soon. After a few minutes' thought, she began a new page and added:

_I hope you are being careful and not accepting the first offer which is made to you. Please be certain that Mr Sallow is a good man before you accept him, for you have not known him long. I would hate to see you trapped in an unpleasant marriage because you did not take time to_

She left off writing. Kitty was astute enough to imagine the reaction her remarks would cause, and that they would do nothing but give offence. She crumpled the sheet and began a new one.

_Along with my congratulations, I cannot help but also express my concerns for your happiness as you consider making such a significant decision. Please forgive me for being too cautious for your welfare; as your friend, I hope that you place as great a value on yourself as I do, and that you will only accept an offer of marriage from a man who is known to be truly worthy of you. If your family can confirm Mr Sallow to be a good man, then of course I can leave my reservations behind and join you in hoping for a happy conclusion to your present hopes._

She wrote a few more lines in a more optimistic tone, sent her respects to Maria's family, and signed and sealed the letter.

After tea, the ladies began to move upstairs for their toilette prior to the ball, several of them, including Kitty's sisters, gathering in one room to share the services of ladies' maids and to enjoy the anticipation of the ball and the admiration of one another's finery. Jane looked quite lovely in her gown of green, her preferred colour for special occasions, as did Elizabeth in elegant pearl-grey silk and a diamond necklace. Kitty praised Georgiana's blue gown with white lace as Waring dressed her hair, then slipped into her own dress, which was admired as well. Kitty paused as she was about to place Maria Lucas' amber ornament in her hair, and turned to Mary, who was wearing a gown in the popular puce shade. The little jewel seemed more fitting for her sister's choice of dress. "Mary, _you_ should take this, I think."

Mary looked surprised. "Did not Maria lend it to you in particular for evening parties?"

"Yes, but you should have it tonight. It goes with your gown, and would look better on your dark hair. See?" She held the item up against Mary's coiffure. "Don't you think so, Lizzy?"

"I do. And I have an amber necklace that would look very well with it." She hurried back to her own chamber, returning with the necklace, which she fastened around Mary's neck. "There! Mary, you look splendid." Kitty concurred. Mary looked as solemn as ever, and even in a ball gown she did not quite manage to look truly pretty, but she was quite presentable, and her costume suited her looks as a more elaborate one would not have done. She wondered briefly what Mr Sutcliffe would think of Mary's appearance, before pushing the thought away. Mary thanked her, peering into the looking glass with some complacency.

"Kitty, you should have a necklace as well. What about this?" Elizabeth said, offering her a gold necklace in a delicate filigree design. Kitty accepted with pleasure, and looked into the mirror with a critical eye. She recognized that she was less handsome than her two eldest sisters, smaller and with a less impressive figure. Her hair, although very prettily dressed for the evening, was a light brown which she had been inclined to regard as no colour in particular. Her eyes were brown, but not the deep, warm brown of Elizabeth's eyes; her own eyes she compared to the colour of very weak tea. Her complexion was clear but pale, and her features, it seemed to Kitty, were neither pretty nor the contrary, but merely ordinary. All the same, in her new primrose-coloured gown and with her carefully arranged hair showing her face to its best advantage, Kitty felt that she would not disgrace her company; and in contrast to her state of mind at seventeen, was able to accept that moderately happy conclusion and put the matter aside, looking forward to the ball with no further concerns about her appearance.

Georgiana paused to look out the window, which allowed a partial view of the front drive under the light of a nearly full moon. "The rest of the guests are arriving," she said.

"Oh!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "I should be in the ballroom to greet them. Make haste, ladies! You would not want to miss the first dance!" Smiling and in high spirits, she hurried down the staircase.

Georgiana continued to watch out the window. "There is Mr Ogden - do you remember him, Kitty? Mr Sutcliffe's friend from London."

"Yes, I remember him. I did not know he was invited."

"Yes, and I'm happy he was included. He was very pleasant company, and it will be a chance for Mr Sutcliffe to meet with his friend again. And in any case," she added with a laugh, "there were too few gentlemen. Elizabeth wanted to avoid having any ladies left without a partner if at all possible."

"I'm very glad she took such things into account!"

"And there is Miss Pemberton!" Georgiana added. "She looks rather cross."

"I doubt she will enjoy a ball very much," Kitty observed.

"I'm sure she won't, but Elizabeth said we must invite her. At least she can be cross in company, rather than alone."

Jane looked in once more on Alice, and being assured that all was well in the nursery, declared herself ready. The three sisters and Georgiana descended together, finding the house brightly lit with wax candles, liveried footmen in attendance, elegantly dressed people moving toward the back of the house. They passed Baron, the pointer, seated just outside the ballroom door, next to an enormous urn filled with fragrant lilac, solemnly watching the guests pass through, and Kitty paused to pat his head. The ballroom itself was brilliantly lit by magnificent chandeliers and by the longest tapers Kitty had ever seen, and beautifully decorated from floor to ceiling. The floor was chalked for the convenience of the dancers, by means of elaborate chalk drawings of ships at sea, which covered the entire dance floor; guests were already remarking on what a shame it would be to dance over the drawings and erase them.

Elizabeth stood by the door to receive guests. "I should hardly have recognized the room!" Kitty told her. "I did not think lilacs grew at Pemberley," she added, nodding to the display just outside the doorway. "I've never seen them here."

"They were brought by Mr Sutcliffe," she replied, with a smile that communicated, all at once, her amusement at Mr Sutcliffe's well known habit of bringing produce from his own garden wherever he went, her appreciation of the thoughtful gift, and tolerance of the slight bother of having to find an appropriate place for an enormous armful of lilac branches in an already carefully decorated ballroom. Kitty returned her smile in complete understanding.

"It is magnificent, Lizzy," Jane agreed. "But we should go in, and let you greet the new arrivals." The ladies accordingly moved further into the ballroom, which was already well filled, the guests talking together or merely looking about, as music played softly. Kitty looked up at the gallery, finding a small orchestra playing, and an equal number of substitute musicians sitting idle until they were needed to replace those who became fatigued over the course of the event. Jane left them to greet her husband, who could be heard demanding the first dance in a mock-peremptory tone that made his wife laugh, and accept at once. Kitty smiled at Jane's good fortune in having such an amiable husband - and her sister Elizabeth's good fortune as well, although Mr Darcy's benevolence was less immediately obvious. She took a moment to wish, for Maria Lucas' sake, that Mr Alfred Sallow might be such a husband. This caused her mind to flit briefly to others of her acquaintance who had not been so fortunate, but she firmly set such ideas aside as inappropriate for a ball.

"There you are, Kitty! And Mary!" her mother's voice exclaimed. Kitty turned to find her parents behind her. "Oh, hello, Miss Darcy; I didn't see you there. Isn't it just wonderful?" Mrs Bennet asked, looking about the room. "I can hardly imagine what it must have cost! So, girls, you look very well tonight."

"Thank you, Mama," Kitty said. "You look quite well, too." She winced inwardly in giving the compliment, for her mother was dressed in a manner many years too young for her, and with an excess of ribbons and ornaments that was far from tasteful.

"Good evening, girls; Miss Darcy," her father put in, bowing slightly. "I hope you enjoy your evening, and avoid the ignominy of sitting down through even a single dance."

"Thank you, Mr Bennet," Georgiana said, smiling a little.

The ladies began to move away, but Mr Bennet said quietly to Kitty, "I see Mr Culpepper is on duty. He has passed the first test, but that shilling is by no means claimed yet. This evening will be the final run which makes him or breaks him."

"I am not in the least afraid!" she declared. "I have backed the right horse, as we shall soon see." Mr Bennet chuckled at this, bewildering his wife, who questioned him repeatedly about the meaning of it all, as Kitty continued to cross the room. She stopped when a voice came from behind her. "Miss Bennet? May I request the honour of the first dance?"


	33. The Ball at Pemberley

_"The best way of keeping a secret is to pretend there isn't one."_  
><em>Margaret Atwood<em>

* * *

><p>Kitty turned to face the speaker, then found it necessary to lower her gaze by many inches. She was being addressed by Oliver Chatfield, the youngest child of Justice Chatfield, Mr Darcy's eminent great-uncle. "The first dance?" she repeated, taken by surprise.<p>

"It would be my great and distinct and great honour and pleasure," the boy said, bowing with elaborate courtesy, "if you are not yet engaged for the first."

Kitty quickly gathered her wits. "Thank you; I would be delighted," she replied, with an equally formal curtsey.

The young gentleman seemed immensely pleased, and a little relieved. "This is my very first ball," he confided, with less formality, "and so _you_ will be my first dance partner at a ball."

"Really? That is a very particular honour!"

"And yet, I have practiced dancing very often lately, at home with my family or friends," he hastened to assure her, "and I am sure I can do well enough."

"I have no doubt of it."

Once again, she was addressed. "Miss Catherine?" Kitty had no difficulty recognizing this voice - not only because it was familiar, but because it seemed to somehow capture her attention as no other voice could do. She turned to find Mr Sutcliffe standing by her side.

"Good evening, Mr Sutcliffe."

"Good evening. May I request the first dance?"

"I'm sorry, Mr Sutcliffe; it has already been promised to Mr Chatfield." She inclined her head gravely toward the boy fidgeting awkwardly beside her.

"Oh, indeed?" To Kitty's delight and admiration, Mr Sutcliffe did not patronize the boy, nor show the slightest sign of amusement. In fact, he paid young Oliver the courtesy of looking faintly affronted at having been usurped by a quicker man, and bowed to the lad with a cold acquiescence which gratified him far more than friendliness could have done. "Very well, then. Perhaps Miss Catherine Bennet would do me the honour of reserving the _second_ dance."

Kitty managed to keep her countenance. "Certainly, Mr Sutcliffe."

Oliver bowed to Kitty, reaffirmed their engagement, bowed once again, and withdrew to the refreshment table to revive himself with sweets. Once he was well out of hearing, Kitty turned back to Mr Sutcliffe with a smile. "Thank you! You were _very_ proper to little Oliver! It is the first ball he has ever attended, you know."

"I thought it might be. And _you_, no doubt, are the first lady he has requested as partner. One must not make light of a young man's inaugural achievement in such a significant area."

"No, and you most certainly did not. He may have wondered if he would be challenged to a duel," she laughed, "but he did not feel condescended to, and that is the important thing."

He smiled in return. "Then young Oliver's triumph is complete. He is treated with manly respect; and at his very first ball, he is to dance the opening dance with the most charming lady present."

Kitty laughed awkwardly, but even understanding his words to be mere courtesy, could not prevent the blush that spread over her face at the same time. It was immensely gratifying to think that Mr Sutcliffe might find her agreeable. She wondered for an instant if she ought to object to his remarks, if only out of loyalty to Mary, but realized that to protest would give his polite compliments more significance than was intended. "All the ladies look quite fine tonight, although I think Jane is still prettiest, just as she was at home."

He seemed determined not to be put off. "And yet it was _you_ Oliver chose for his premier dance."

She chose to answer jokingly. "Of course! The poor boy wanted someone less intimidating than a fine lady for his first attempt. Besides, I am closer to his height than most of the ladies here."

He smiled gently. "Speaking as a fellow man, despite the difference in our years - I think that was _not_ the reason. I believe Master Oliver thinks well enough of himself to attempt the most admirable prize, rather than the most accessible." At Kitty's apparent confusion, he added, "Forgive me if I am too forward. Your determination to set aside every compliment, however well deserved, spurs my resolve to overcome it."

Kitty chose to accept that last statement at face value, and turn the subject. "It is a magnificent ballroom," she observed, "and I'm sure the dancing will be very agreeable; but all the great people make me feel a little nervous. What if I should slip or make a misstep while dancing?"

He replied cheerfully, "I think great people are as likely to slip on the dance floor as any of us. And I have yet to see _you_ make a misstep, Miss Catherine." She made a great show of rubbing the soles of her shoes against the chalked floor, making him laugh. Just then his older brother caught his eye from across the room, seeming to summon him, and Mr Sutcliffe excused himself and went to join him.

Feeling too animated to sit or stand still, Kitty began to stroll slowly around the room, taking in the grandeur of the room and admiring the other ladies' costumes. As she walked, snatches of conversation could be heard here and there. "...of course, a tradesman may be a very good sort of person," Miss Bingley was saying to Lord Wentworth, "but he must inevitably lack the refinements necessary to..."

Mr Wentworth could be heard replying politely, "I suppose we _all_ obtained our fortunes through trade at some point in the past, unless it were done through piracy or conquest." Miss Bingley looked nonplussed. Kitty walked on, smiling to herself.

A brief snatch of Mr Sutcliffe's conversation with his elder brother reached her ears, some vague phrases which seemed to relate to money. She caught a few words from Mr Edwin Sutcliffe, who could be heard to say, "...had the wrong sister; the other was more what I had expected _you_ to..." but she could make no real sense of the discussion before the brothers moved out of hearing. Further on, Colonel Fitzwilliam was talking earnestly to Mr Darcy. "...all too true, but she is still our aunt, and family ties should be respected. Perhaps if she were willing to..."

She passed Georgiana, who was listening quietly and attentively as the dignified Justice Chatfield and Lady Wainwright's uncle, Mr Gaveston, discussed a recent trial of political dissidents, while the judge's two daughters, a short distance away, surveyed the gentlemen in the room and shared their whispered impressions of each. Behind them, Miss Pemberton, seated comfortably in the corner of the room furthest from the dance floor, was airing her grievances to Mrs Hurst, who seemed to be looking for a way to escape the conversation.

Kitty was surprised at that moment to hear Lydia's name spoken, and turned to see Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner speaking quietly together. "...can only hope that he does the job justice, and does not disappoint us once again, for your uncle is risking his good name in recommending him..." Kitty surmised that Elizabeth had acted on Lydia's request despite her misgivings, and that her uncle had recommended Mr Wickham for a position. She reminded herself to ask Lizzy about it the next day. She was then still more surprised to hear her own name, but both ladies lowered their voices at this point so that she could make out frustratingly little of what they said. "What about Kitty's...?" her aunt whispered. Louder conversations intruded.

Elizabeth replied in the same low tone, so that Kitty heard only a few words. "...fairly good living...his sister says..."

Mrs Gardiner asked, "But does _she_ feel...?" The remainder of the sentence was lost.

Elizabeth smiled as if amused. "We cannot come to an agreement about that. Georgiana believes so, and she is more likely to know the truth than..."

The surrounding buzz of voices once again drowned out Elizabeth's words. Curious, but aware that she should not be purposely eavesdropping, Kitty reluctantly moved on.

"...like some sort of haven for fallen women..." Miss Bingley was saying to Lord Wentworth, smiling sadly. "I should be the _last_ person to think badly of dear Mrs Darcy, but..."

Lord Wentworth did not seem to be receiving her remarks with pleasure. "...not at all. I find it quite admirable," he said firmly. Kitty walked on as Miss Bingley scrambled to soften her previous statement. _Papa was right_, Kitty thought. _Miss Bingley's arrows continue to miss their mark_.

In a corner of the room, Mr Culpepper was approached by Mr Spooner, who seemed to be reminding him of his particular duties for the evening. "...extremely well thus far...good report..." Mr Culpepper seemed relieved and gratified.

Mr Henry Sutcliffe had left his brother and was in conversation with Mary in a corner of the room. Kitty noted the attention, dutifully approved of it, yet unthinkingly veered away from them as she walked, taking a different direction.

Kitty passed her father, once again in lively conversation with the Spencers. She presumed they must be talking of natural history, as before; but when Kitty approached them they seemed to break off their discussion abruptly. Mrs Spencer smiled and nodded to Kitty, who cheerfully returned her salute and moved on.

Mrs Bennet was seated comfortably in a corner, a glass of wine in her hand, exchanging tales of past balls with Justice Chatfield's wife and another lady Kitty did not recognize. "...and dear Jane, my eldest, met her husband at a very pleasant ball in Hertfordshire. They are staying here just now while he prepares to move into his new estate, you know - a very valuable estate indeed, worth..."

Elizabeth, who had been talking and laughing with Lady Wainwright, looked to where Mr Spooner stood with his prospective replacement, and on receiving some sign invisible to others, excused herself and gestured to the musicians. The soft music ceased, and the orchestra played a short fanfare, gaining the guests' attention. Elizabeth called out, "Ladies and gentlemen, please take your places for the first dance!" In deference to convention, and for the sake of those who valued such formalities, the first dance observed the order of precedence, although the Darcys had made it clear to their guests that subsequent dances would be arranged entirely by chance. Elizabeth was therefore escorted to the top of the room by Lord Wentworth, while Mr Darcy stood up next with Lady Wainwright, and the other couples fell into place behind them. Kitty had no idea what her own place ought to be, but fortunately her conscientious young partner had established in advance where the son of a judge fell in the dancing hierarchy, and escorted her to their appropriate station.

In spite of the unusual formality of the first dance, Kitty found herself at ease; partly because she was fairly far down the set, at a distance from the guests of highest rank, and partly because she was standing up with Oliver Chatfield, who was far from intimidating - besides which, she wished to avoid making him nervous. The dance was a simple one, and her partner, although seeming to concentrate rather intently on doing everything well, appeared to have no difficulty. She made a particular point of giving Oliver her entire attention during the dance, apart from one moment when Lord Wentworth slipped rather badly, but quickly recovered his footing and laughed at the mistake. Kitty immediately glanced down the set toward Mr Sutcliffe, thinking of his comment about great people losing their footing as easily as any, and found him looking toward her, apparently with the same thought. They exchanged a smile at the unspoken shared joke, before Kitty turned back to her young partner for the remainder of the dance. The boy was quite correct in every detail, took pains to speak to her during resting moments, and when the dance ended, gallantly escorted her across the floor, found her a seat, bowed and thanked her courteously for the dance.

"You are very welcome, Mr Chatfield. You are a skilled and most agreeable dancing partner. I say that in all sincerity." He beamed, thanked her once again, and withdrew with a distinctly juvenile bounce in his step.

The second dance was called after only a short interlude, and Mr Sutcliffe arrived to claim Kitty quite promptly. "Was your partner for the first dance acceptable?" he asked as they joined the set.

"Yes, perfectly. He was a fine dancer, and extremely courteous and attentive."

"I'm glad to hear it. I see the experience has not frightened him away from further attempts." He nodded down the set, where Oliver was now standing up with Mrs Spencer.

"Excellent; your sister will be pleasant to him." She noticed Mary close by, dancing with a gentleman she only vaguely recognized. Thinking it might please Mr Sutcliffe, she pointed out her sister's presence and remarked, "Mary looks very well tonight."

"Yes," he agreed, but did not look in Mary's direction nor expand on her observation. This indifference struck Kitty as out of keeping with a suitor, and she wondered for a moment whether she had misinterpreted the matter, in spite of the evidence of partiality. It was so difficult to be certain; but then, perhaps it was to be expected that Mr Sutcliffe would be intriguingly unique in his mode of courtship, as he was in every other way. The dance took up their attention for several minutes. When they had a moment at rest, he said, "It has been interesting to meet more of your family. I've spent some time in conversation with your father. He seems to be a very intelligent and knowledgeable man."

"Yes, Papa reads constantly. He loves books above all things."

"And your sister, Mrs Bingley, and her husband are two of the most gracious and amiable people I have ever met."

Kitty smiled at that. "Jane has always been the sweetest and kindest of my sisters, and indeed of any lady I ever knew. I did not appreciate her properly when I was younger, but I have learned to. It is as well that she married Mr Bingley, who is just as good natured, and suits her perfectly. No other gentleman would have been good enough for her."

"That is high praise indeed for Mr Bingley." He took her hand to direct her through the dance. "I was also glad for a chance to introduce my own family to your acquaintance."

"I was very happy to meet them. I think I like your sister particularly well, but they are all very agreeable."

"Emily is liked wherever she is."

"Is that your sister's name? She and her husband seem quite harmonious, even though they appear such different people at first. It is heartening, somehow, to see them together."

That seemed to please him. "Very perceptive, Miss Bennet, and I agree entirely. Yes, they are harmonious indeed, in the musical sense: two diverse notes which come together to produce a sound better and more beautiful than either one alone."

Kitty found this comparison charming. "That is a perfect description! Very much like my other sister, Elizabeth's marriage: she and Mr Darcy could not be more different, on the surface, and yet they are both happier and better people for being together."

"I am gratified that you see these things as I do," he said. He did, in fact, seem quite elated by the brief conversation, and moved through the rest of the dance in notable high spirits.

Kitty was never without a partner through the first half of the ball. Not long before supper was to be served, she found herself in a little cluster of people, talking idly of favourite foods with Mary, Mr Bingley, both Mr Edwin and Mr Henry Sutcliffe, and Jane. Seeing that the next dance was about to be called, Mr Henry Sutcliffe seemed about to issue an invitation, but before he could speak his elder brother abruptly turned to Kitty and said, "Miss Bennet, would you grant me the pleasure of the next dance?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied without a thought. She rather wondered at the reaction to this simple event, for once she had accepted, Mr Edwin Sutcliffe seemed to look archly at his brother, who in turn seemed distinctly annoyed. However, Mr Henry Sutcliffe almost immediately turned to Mary and invited her to dance, which appeared to mildly amuse his brother. Kitty had no notion of what was transpiring between the two brothers, but she did take note that Mr Henry Sutcliffe had engaged Mary for the final dance before supper was served. She took this as a possible hint in support of his and Mary's attachment, and tried to be pleased that he had arranged matters properly for once; but found herself disappointed that she would not have the pleasure of his conversation during the meal. She had seldom had such enjoyment from conversation, and at the same time such ease of understanding, such natural rapport, as with Mr Sutcliffe, and another chance to have his full attention during the course of the meal would have been most welcome.

Her partner did not converse with her during the dance, which, to Kitty's satisfaction, was the reel Elizabeth had promised. The dancing was too quick and lively to allow for more than a word or two. Once the dance had ended, leaving the participants breathless and laughing, supper was announced, and the couples proceeded to the dining hall. Seats were found at the two elegant and bountifully laden tables which ran the length of the room, parallel to one another. There, Mr Edwin Sutcliffe was prepared to talk. After dispensing with general compliments on Kitty's dancing ability and remarks on the splendid meal and charming company, which he seemed to regard as a necessary preamble to more sincere speech, Kitty's companion began to question her on her home in Hertfordshire, her parents and sisters, and her other relations, with particular attention to her aunts and uncles. Having evidently been satisfied with her answers, he moved on to other matters: her education, her interests, her preferred reading. He inquired at some length whether she found the country dull, and whether she preferred to be in London. At first, Kitty took this to be a sociable attempt to become better acquainted with her by learning more of her life and family; and he made his enquiries so politely, and so carefully interspersed with pleasantries about whatever topic was brought out, she did not at first notice that he brushed aside any questions she asked in return with a word or two, before returning to his interrogation.

Eventually she recognized that Mr Edwin Sutcliffe was unduly curious about her. Moreover, she became aware that both Mr Henry Sutcliffe and his sister were sometimes glancing their way with a look of mild concern. Kitty could only conclude that they were uneasy lest she be either rude or indiscreet in her replies, and cause them some embarrassment. While uncertain of the exact nature of their fears, Kitty resolved to be as correct, and as courteous, as she knew how to be, and answered all Mr Sutcliffe's queries honestly but circumspectly, and with a perfect politeness that expressed no resentment at being investigated for three quarters of an hour. Her only lapse in civility was in sometimes allowing her attention to be drawn away from her dinner partner, to observe Mr Henry Sutcliffe, who was seated a slight distance down the room and on the opposite side of the table. He sometimes engaged in earnest conversation with Mary, and about as often in laughing banter with the lady sitting on his other side, except when he occasionally looked down the table to where Kitty sat with his brother. On one such occasion, their eyes met, and Kitty found this so oddly disconcerting that she carefully avoided looking in his direction for the remainder of the meal.

Mr Edwin Sutcliffe seemed to notice what had drawn her attention. "I hope Henry is not boring your poor sister half to death," he said with a laugh.

"I'm sure he is not," she replied in some surprise. "He and Mary always find a great deal to talk about."

"I'm glad to hear it. Most ladies probably would not have the patience. He can be quite tedious, but I suppose that is an unavoidable part of his profession." Kitty had no idea how to reply to that, and the gentleman quickly moved on.

When supper ended, and Mr Edwin Sutcliffe escorted her back to the ballroom, Kitty waited until he had moved away, then slipped out of the room and away from the wing containing the ballroom, into the unlit rooms beyond. The continuous questioning, and the worry that she might be doing or saying something amiss, had left her in need of a few minutes' quiet and solitude. She also felt unsettled by the uncertainty of Mr Sutcliffe's intentions toward Mary. She recognized that her concern was excessive, especially in contrast to Mary's apparent disinterest in the question, but could not help herself. As she walked through the deserted and quiet part of the house, she heard a sound, and saw Mr Darcy enter through a door leading to the gardens, accompanied by the devoted Baron. He stopped when he saw her. "Miss Catherine? Is all well?"

"Oh, yes. I just wanted a moment alone."

He smiled. "As did I."

"Yes, I remember. You feel the need for a reprieve when there is a large crowd of people."

"Precisely. May I recommend the path leading from this door? It circles the near garden, and is easy to follow at night; and you will not be disturbed here."

"Thank you."

"I am returning to the ballroom. Perhaps Baron may accompany you." Kitty agreed, and the pointer magnanimously accepted his new companion. Kitty stepped out the door into the cool night air and walked slowly along the gravel paths, faintly visible in the moonlight, pondering the matter that was foremost in her mind. She had been so certain, at one time, that Mr Sutcliffe was attached to Mary. He had sought out her company, spent long periods in conversation with her, took a great interest in her activities and her thoughts. The attention seemed too marked to be incidental. But at the same time, he did not behave like a lover. He neither praised Mary nor took pleasure in hearing her praised. He did not compliment her or try to charm her. He had been far warmer and more engaging with Georgiana, yet Kitty had long since concluded that he had no such interest in her friend. What were his feelings toward Mary? Kitty knew she ought to wait patiently and find out when the time was right, but could not.

She thought again of the prospect of Mr Sutcliffe's marriage to Mary, of his becoming her brother, and her agitation increased. She tried to fathom the reason. Did she disapprove of the match? No, she told herself, decidedly not. As she had acknowledged to herself before, Mary was in many ways a perfect wife for Mr Sutcliffe. She had always had a high regard for the clergy; she was well read, in spiritual matters as in any other; she was an able musician, like Mr Sutcliffe himself; she was sober, decorous, and pious; and she was actively involved in church charities. Kitty admitted to herself that she found Mary a little cold and pretentious in her manner, narrow in her thinking, but had come to assume that this was due to her own inadequacies rather than her sister's. Mr Sutcliffe's attention to Mary and his apparent approval of her confirmed this in Kitty's mind. And yet, the idea of their marriage distressed her, as did the prospect of Mr Sutcliffe becoming her brother. She walked on, and continued to try and determine the reason.

Kitty was extremely, perhaps almost comically, unaccustomed to introspection. It was all due to her lifelong tendency to look outward rather than inward for guidance, to allow herself to be led by others, in both thought and action. Her long habit of following others' examples, regarding others as models, seeing herself only in comparison to others, and looking to others rather than to herself for approval, had resulted in far less self-examination, and far less self-knowledge, than was at all probable in a young lady by the age of twenty. Indeed, most ladies of her age would have been astonished to find that she could have been in love for some time without realizing it, without even suspecting it. They would no doubt have laughed heartily at her ability to overlook such an obvious series of clues, and laughed even more at the shock and mortification with which she came to recognize this alarming reality about her own feelings. She stopped where she was and stood motionless on the path for perhaps two minutes, seeming to stare blankly into empty space. Baron, confused by this sudden stillness, gently nudged her hand with his snout, and Kitty sank down, throwing her arms around the big pointer and burying her face against his neck as tears began to flow. The dignified animal was unaccustomed to such liberties, but on this occasion, to his credit, stood still and permitted them.


	34. The Ball Concludes

_"Let no one who loves be called altogether unhappy. Even love unreturned has its rainbow."_  
><em>J.M. Barrie<em>

* * *

><p>It took Kitty a surprisingly short time to recover from the shock of realization, and the amazement at how much she had managed to hide from herself. After only a minute or two, she released the patient Baron, patted his head apologetically, stood and continued her walk, her mind active but somewhat less turbulent, now that she understood the situation. She at least was spared the discomfort of being ashamed of her feelings. It seemed to her perfectly natural that she should be in love with Mr Sutcliffe. He was everything that was good, kind, amiable, manly, and commendable. What woman would not love him, or at least think highly of him? It was true that Miss Bingley, in spite of her tendency to pursue eligible gentlemen, did not seem to care for him, but Kitty attributed that to Miss Bingley's questionable taste and the significance she placed on rank and money. Everyone whose opinion Kitty valued held Mr Sutcliffe in high regard. Kitty therefore did not blame herself for loving him. However, she understood very clearly that this affection would always be on her side alone. She was not his equal, not in virtue, understanding, or even beauty. She walked slowly through the garden, pondering the unhappy fact that she had fallen into the painful and humiliating plight of unrequited love - something she had read of in novels, but had little notion of how to manage in her own life.<p>

She fell back on her usual practice when faced with a personal dilemma: that of looking to people she admired to provide an example. What, then, would her friend Georgiana do, if presented with such a situation? What would Jane or Lizzy do? Kitty recalled that Jane had once, for a short time, believed herself to be in love with a man who did not care for her. She had endured this trial as Jane would naturally do: by keeping her suffering hidden, to avoid causing pain to others; by finding ways to keep herself employed, and permitting herself any distraction which would raise her spirits; and by accepting the supposed truth of her beloved's indifference as gracefully as possible. She was sure that Lizzy or Georgiana would do the same; it came to her that Mr Sutcliffe himself would behave similarly. Kitty concluded that she must do no less.

She paced more quickly along the dim garden paths. She did not attempt to convince herself that she could soon cease to love Mr Sutcliffe. Perhaps that would be possible one day, but for now, it was too much to think of. However, she could hide her feelings from others. She could and would unselfishly accept his choice, if he did, in fact, have an attachment to Mary, or to any other lady. She would take comfort in meeting him from time to time, at Pemberley or while visiting her aunt and uncle in London, and at other times would cherish the memory of his company. She would keep herself busy and her mind occupied, until time gradually lessened the strength of her feelings. It was a bleak prospect, but reminding herself that she had never yet been called on to attempt something genuinely difficult, truly selfless, she summoned the courage necessary to face it.

Kitty walked through the gardens for what seemed a long time, although in fact it was little more than half an hour. Her affection and regard for Mr Sutcliffe steadied her resolve more than anything else; she shrank from the idea of giving him the distress of knowing he had caused her pain. The strength of her determination to do right was such that she found herself equal to returning to the ball, facing the company, even facing Mr Sutcliffe, rather than retiring to her room and causing her friends concern at her unexplained disappearance. She turned back, entered the door through which she had come, allowed Baron to come in and find his bed for the night in a corner of the breakfast room, and returned to the ballroom.

Despite her resolve, on entering the room her eyes immediately sought Mr Sutcliffe, although she reminded herself to reveal as little as possible through her expression. She found him by the far wall, talking to Mr Darcy with a look of concern, seeming to question him. Mr Darcy replied, gesturing toward the door through which Kitty had just passed, and the two men turned to look in her direction. Mr Sutcliffe's expression immediately cleared, and he seemed to thank Mr Darcy. It appeared that Mr Sutcliffe had noticed her absence, and had been asking where she had gone. This attention was at once sweet and painful to Kitty, and she guarded her expression still more closely as Mr Sutcliffe crossed the room and came toward her.

"Miss Bennet! I wondered what had become of you."

"I stepped outside for a few minutes," she explained, forbearing to say more.

"Yes, so Mr Darcy told me. It must be pleasantly cool in the garden, after being here in the ballroom. Are you sufficiently refreshed to try dancing again? The next is not a reel, but a very sedate dance, I see."

Having no good excuse for refusing, Kitty accepted. He remained with her, talking of this and that, and conversation soon became easier. She found herself describing the amusingly regal attitude of Baron, making him laugh. _There_, she told herself; _how easy it is to talk comfortably with him, even now! I shall do very well if I keep my head_.

"Baron seems a suitable name for him," Mr Sutcliffe suggested. "Have you by any chance chosen a name for your favourite spaniel puppy?"

"That is for her eventual owner to decide; but to myself, I call her Daisy. It was the name of a neighbour's hound when I was very little, and at the time it struck me as the perfect name for a dog."

"I see." He paused a moment, looking slightly uncomfortable, then said, "I hope my brother was not making himself disagreeable."

"Your brother?"

"Yes; he seemed to be questioning you rather intently at supper. I'm afraid he is sometimes a little overbearing."

"Oh, no; he was perfectly polite." Mr Sutcliffe seemed to accept this statement with a touch of skepticism, but said nothing more.

The new set began to form, and Kitty let herself be led into place. As she had been told, the dance was slow and dignified rather than lively, and Kitty, mindful of her resolution, deliberately relished the graceful movements, and the lovely music which accompanied it. She admired, as she had before, Mr Sutcliffe's manly grace, and found she could take a bittersweet pleasure in dancing with him, without undue confusion, although she could not help blushing sometimes when he looked directly at her. Georgiana, a short way down the set, caught her eye and smiled, and when the dance ended, came to her as soon as Mr Sutcliffe moved away. "Kitty, isn't it a lovely ball?"

"Yes, it is. You seem to be in good spirits. I see you've been doing a great deal of dancing."

"I have! Some of the gentlemen have been very pleasant, very agreeable."

This was something Kitty had never heard her friend express, most especially not with such enthusiasm. "Have they? Is there any one in particular who is more pleasant than the others? I noticed you standing up with Oliver Chatfield - has he won you with his gallantry?" she teased.

Georgiana laughed. "Oh, little Oliver is very sweet. He will be a charming gentleman in a few years."

"He will, to be sure!" Georgiana suggested they go to the refreshment table in the adjoining room, as the dancing had made her quite thirsty, and they continued to talk as they moved in that direction. "It is odd, but Oliver seems so much more adult and refined than his older sisters."

Georgiana agreed. "I suppose his education encouraged him in that way, while the young ladies' did not. Sons' upbringing is taken more seriously than daughters' by some parents." She grew thoughtful. "They behave as most young ladies of that age: merry and frolicsome, taking the world very lightly and finding fun in everything. I cannot remember ever being that way, even as quite a young girl."

"Likely you were not. I do not think you are frivolous by nature, and your education was taken quite seriously. You would have been horrified, however, to see _me_ at fifteen or sixteen."

"Surely not," Georgiana said politely. They each took a cup of tea, and when Miss Bingley approached to speak to Georgiana, Kitty quietly withdrew to a chair near the open doorway, across from where Mr Hurst had fallen asleep on a chaise, and sat listening to the voices coming from the ballroom. Mrs Hurst was confiding in another lady that she was eager to return to London, "...for we will have to be in the country next month for the shooting, and I don't care to waste any more time than necessary looking at hayfields." Kitty smiled at this rather unromantic impression of the English countryside. She then stifled a laugh as she overheard Oliver attempting to engage Lady Wainwright for the next dance, with as much courtesy as before but far greater confidence.

Her attention was suddenly drawn by the sound of Mr Sutcliffe's voice, not far from the door, apparently talking to his brother. It appeared that the elder Mr Sutcliffe was being accused of some impropriety, and was defending himself.

"Henry, don't be an ass! I merely talked to the girl. Why would you suppose I'd say anything wrong?"

"What else am I to think? You question her relentlessly throughout the meal; afterward she immediately leaves the room and is absent the better part of an hour, then returns looking distraught and uneasy, when she was in excellent spirits before that."

"I promise you, it was not my doing. Something else must have upset her."

Kitty heard them moving away from the door, and their voices faded. Hearing Mr Sutcliffe express such concern for her was delightful; at the same time, she was a little disconcerted that her state of mind - although thankfully not the reason for it - had been so apparent to him. She was glad of a few minutes unobserved. She finished her tea just as Georgiana rejoined her. "Shall we go back?" she asked. "I am engaged for the next dance. Do you have a partner yet?"

"No, not..." Kitty was immediately approached by Mr Ogden, who invited her to dance with a jaunty good humour that revived her spirits. The dance was a simple but sprightly one which had been a great favourite at the assemblies in Meryton, and appeared to be popular here as well, for all but a very few joined the set. Miss Bingley sat with Mr Edwin Sutcliffe, where they seemed to enjoy some merriment at the expense of the inelegance of the present dance. Kitty observed with interest as Mrs Chatfield was invited to dance by a young gentleman, whereupon she cheerfully kissed her rather elderly husband and ran to the set. She talked and laughed not only with her own partner but with all the gentlemen nearby, and one or two of the ladies, as Justice Chatfield watched complacently from his seat by the wall.

Mr Sutcliffe, she could not help but notice, was standing up with the elder Miss Chatfield, who giggled at everything he said, amusing or serious. Kitty saw a look exchanged between him and Mr Ogden, who turned to Kitty with a laugh. "Poor Sutcliffe is not altogether pleased with his dance partner."

Kitty glanced at Mr Sutcliffe, grateful for an excuse to look at him. "I can see that; but he is being very pleasant to her nonetheless."

"That would be like him; only someone who knows him well would be aware of his displeasure." Kitty was a little startled at being included in such a category, and said nothing. "Are you to be in London again at any time soon, Miss Bennet?"

"I have no plans to be. I seldom go except to visit my aunt and uncle, and they are already here with us at Pemberley. I think my family will be returning to Hertfordshire before long."

"I see. I had hoped to invite your family to visit me, if you were to be in town." He paused to allow for a turn across the set, and went on, "I have been making such improvements to my home, and additions to my staff of servants, that I am now able to invite well-bred guests with reasonable confidence that they will not, at least, bolt for the door moments after arriving."

Kitty laughed at the image he described, more than willing to encourage a happier mood in herself. "Is that why you have made these changes? To avoid frightening off all your friends?"

"It seems prudent, does it not? But no, to be entirely honest, it served well enough as a bachelor's establishment, but a man must offer better to a bride, if he wishes to ever obtain one."

"Oh! Are you engaged to be married, Mr Ogden?"

"I am not; but..." He paused again until the dance formation allowed them to be still and less easily heard by their neighbours. "I shall tell you in confidence, Miss Bennet, that I _hope_ to be married within the year. There is a young lady..."

"What good news! I wish you joy, Mr Ogden!"

"You must first wish me luck, for I have not yet asked her. She is too good for me, and all my hopes depend on her not being too clearly aware of the fact."

She laughed again. "Believing your wife to be too good for you sounds like an excellent basis for a happy marriage."

"Does it indeed! I'm sure many women agree with you."

"No doubt!" she laughed, and took his hand as they moved down the set.

"But in all seriousness," he continued when they were back in place, "I think the happiest marriage must be one in which each party believes the other to be slightly superior, and each one feels he has been granted just a little more than he truly deserves in the way of a partner."

"You may be right, Mr Ogden; but how seldom that must happen!"

He agreed, and they danced in companionable silence for a few minutes. "Do you know," he began again, when they reached the bottom of the set, "my friend Sutcliffe has been doing some improvements on his own dwelling. As you once observed, it is a very large and comfortable house, but he has so far lived more modestly than his income requires. Now, however, he has fitted up the rooms which had previously been left disused, bought new furnishings for his sitting room, and talks of hiring additional servants. It is unheard-of extravagance by Sutcliffe's standards."

"I see! Well..." Kitty was a little dismayed, as her estimation of Mr Sutcliffe's intentions toward her sister, as constantly in motion as a pendulum, changed once again, and she was forced to regard an attachment as somewhat more likely in view of this news. With as much cheer as she could muster, she replied, "Well, perhaps, like you, he is tired of his guests running away in alarm the moment they enter his front door."

He laughed amiably. "Perhaps so."

They completed the dance, and Kitty moved past the doorway to the parlor, where the refreshments were presented, in time to see Mrs Hurst gathering footmen to help her partially conscious husband upstairs to bed, then leaving them to their task and returning happily to the ballroom. In a corner of the ballroom, Justice Chatfield was discussing the law with one gentleman while Mrs Chatfield stood at his side, holding his arm affectionately and talking softly and with great charm and vivacity to a second gentleman, a handsome man in a blue coat. Kitty marveled at what varied forms happy marriages may take.

Her father approached her. "Kitty, my dear. I hope you are enjoying your evening."

"Yes, Papa."

"I am retiring for the night. This sort of entertainment is better for young people, who have the energy to appreciate it. However, I did not want to leave without paying you your winnings. A debt of honour must be taken seriously, after all."

"My winnings?" she repeated, bewildered.

"I have observed, and Lizzy has confirmed, that your Mr Culpepper has cleared every hurdle. Well chosen, my dear. You might be useful as an advisor during the Derby Stakes." He handed Kitty a shilling, bid her good night, and moved on to take leave of his hostess and inform his wife that she should consider herself unescorted for the remainder of the evening. One or two of the older people likewise began to depart, and Kitty realized that there were only two dances remaining. It was strange to think that the ball had only lasted one evening, when in some ways it seemed as if weeks had passed, and she had undergone a tremendous change.

She sank down on a chair, the inner turmoil of the past few hours becoming felt at last in a general lassitude. She hoped that Mr Sutcliffe would ask her to dance once more, and at the same time hoped that he would not, for fear he would discern her feelings. The question was resolved when she was invited to dance by a mature gentleman whose name she had forgotten. She accepted and was escorted to the centre of the floor as she quickly searched her memory, recalling that he was the uncle of Lady Wainwright, and had an unusual surname. Mr Gaveston, she finally remembered. Her partner danced well enough, but spoke little, and Kitty had only the steps of the dance itself to distract her from Mr Sutcliffe's being their neighbours in the set. She had thought she was presenting a perfectly serene countenance, until Mr Gaveston, during a moment of inaction, asked her, "Are you well, Miss Bennet? You seem a little indisposed."

"Oh! Yes, I am perfectly well. I am only tired."

He smiled slightly. "Of course. It is late, and you've done a great deal of dancing tonight."

She agreed, trying to return his smile as convincingly as possible. He said no more, but when the dance ended, escorted her back to her chair, and took a seat beside her. "Are you certain you are quite sound, Miss Bennet? May I bring you anything?"

"No, thank you, Mr Gaveston."

He seemed to hesitate. "Forgive my presumption, but you seem unhappy." She looked up at him in surprise. "I do not mean to be impertinent, much less try to pry into your private concerns, but only to offer my services if there is anything I can do to lessen your discomfort. That includes not only the usual gestures of fetching tea or speaking reassuringly, but also the alternatives or my either remaining here and being entirely silent, or going away immediately. I am yours to command."

She could not help but smile at his odd mixture of gallantry, compassion, and gentle humour. "You are very kind, Mr Gaveston. Perhaps you would not mind sitting with me for a few minutes." Kitty genuinely welcomed his company. She was not up to facing Mr Sutcliffe at that moment, or any close acquaintance who might question her demeanour, and expected that they would be less likely to approach and speak to her if she were in conversation with someone else.

"I should be more than happy to; in fact, it is my particular pleasure, as I have heard many good things about you over the course of my visit." At her surprised look, he added, "I had the opportunity of speaking with your friend, Miss Darcy, and with one of your sisters as well."

"I hope they did not say I am good company," she said, trying to laugh, "or you must be disappointed."

"You are out of spirits. I have seen for myself that you are excellent company ordinarily."

"Thank you." Somehow feeling that this was a man who could be trusted, she added, "You are right, I _am_ a little sad at present, and...would rather not explain why; but I am glad of your presence just now."

"It is my pleasure. Do you wish to join the last dance, or shall I help you flee before you are invited? This house seems to have a plentiful supply of hidden staircases, which would serve very well for a secret escape."

She laughed, more genuinely this time, and her determination rose. "No, thank you. If anyone asks me, I shall accept. I have never yet left a ball before the final dance was completed."

"Ah! Then it would not do to change the habit of a lifetime now; it might be bad luck. Shall we walk about the room, to indicate your readiness to be invited? I believe that is customary," he went on, as they rose together and strolled around the perimeter of the room, "but I am a little out of practice. I have attended few assemblies of this kind for the past few years. My sister has been urging me for some time to be more in society, and I began taking her advice only last summer."

"But you have not forgotten how to dance, I see."

"You are too kind; but it has taken me months to recover those skills."

Before she could ask the reason for his previous seclusion, Georgiana came nearer and greeted them both. As the three spoke, Sir Joseph approached and asked Kitty for the final dance, and Mr Gaveston responded by inviting Georgiana, just as the Boulanger was called for. Everyone still present in the ballroom joined in, and a great circle formed which almost filled the room. Kitty felt much recovered, and was able to move around the circle and change partners through the course of the dance, meeting each and bidding him goodnight with a composure she now felt more certain was expressed on her face. She encountered Mr Sutcliffe, answered his assertion of pleasure at having danced with her with an equally polite remark of her own, wished him a good night, and moved on.

As the dance ended, Kitty paused to thank Mr Gaveston for his kindness, met Elizabeth at the door and praised the success of her party, then took a candle and hurried out of the ballroom ahead of most of the other guests, up the stairs and to her bedroom. She politely refused help from Elizabeth's maid, who seemed to have been asleep somewhere and roused herself at the sound of feet on the stairs, went into her room and closed the door. As she undressed, she congratulated herself on fulfilling her purpose reasonably well. This evening, she reasoned, had no doubt been the most difficult. Tomorrow would be easier, and subsequent days easier still. Reassured by this line of thinking, she finally gave way to exhaustion and climbed into bed, indulging in only a moment of self-pity, allowing only a tear or two to escape, before falling into a deep sleep.


	35. Questions and Answers

_"It is very unfair to judge of any body's conduct, without an intimate knowledge of their situation." _  
><em>Emma<em>

* * *

><p>Kitty opened her eyes to a room dimly lit by the sunlight creeping around the margins of the window curtains. She stirred, stretched, yawned, and then lay still, letting the impressions of the previous day run through her mind. A maid quietly entered, left hot water on the dressing table, and turned to leave. Seeing Kitty awake, she asked, "Shall I draw the curtains, Miss?"<p>

"Yes, please." Kitty blinked as bright sunshine filled the room. When the maid had left the room, she rose and began to perform her usual morning ablutions, knowing that one of the ladies' maids would arrive in a few minutes to help her dress and manage her hair. Kitty had found it an interesting novelty to have the services of a personal maid, after so many years of having nobody but her sisters, or when necessary the housemaid, to provide that kind of assistance. While it was in some ways a pleasant extravagance, she felt she preferred the freedom to rise or go to bed when she liked and to dress in the morning as slowly as she chose, or to sit in her dressing gown and read for an hour first, without taking a waiting servant into account. Being at Pemberley had taught her that every convenience provided by an additional servant came along with some small, corresponding responsibility, at least to a conscientious employer; and she now saw the ideal establishment not as one with many servants, but one with the most advantageous number for that particular household.

Georgiana's maid arrived and performed her duties with her usual efficiency. "Am I the last to wake, Waring?" Kitty asked as the maid arranged her hair.

"By no means, Miss. Many are still sleeping. The Mistress is at breakfast, along with a few of the guests." She briskly tidied some of Kitty's discarded garments, curtsied, and strode away, quietly closing the door behind her. Kitty paused before going downstairs to prepare herself once again to guard her countenance, should Mr Sutcliffe be at the breakfast table. In spite of the inner turmoil of the previous evening, Kitty felt confident that she could be discreet, and took a moment to remind herself of her private pledge to behave as her personal heroines would do.

She descended just as Mrs Spencer was going down the stairs, and the lady stopped at the bottom of the staircase to bid Kitty a good morning. "What a magnificent ball!" she exclaimed. "I had a lovely time, and I suspect you did as well, Miss Bennet! You danced almost every dance, and were much admired. My brother said you looked like a little wood-sprite, dancing in that pretty yellow gown." Kitty longed to ask which of the two brothers had made that remark, but merely replied with a compliment to Mrs Spencer's appearance at the ball, and an inquiry after her husband. "Oh, Mr Spencer is still dressing. He woke only a few minutes ago. It was quite a late night, and I find I require a little less sleep than he does." She continued to talk happily of the ball after reaching the breakfast room, finding that those at the table were, naturally enough, discussing the same subject. Kitty did not have to use her eyes to know Mr Sutcliffe was already present; she caught the sound of his voice before they had entered the breakfast room.

After helping herself to breakfast, Kitty took hasty note of where Mr Sutcliffe was seated at the table, and chose a place where he would not be directly in her sight. Mrs Spencer took a seat beside her, and continued to chat, making matters easy for Kitty by leading the conversation and only requiring simple responses from time to time. She noticed that Mr Culpepper stood beside the door, overlooking the proceedings as usual, but this time without the additional supervision of Mr Spooner, and concluded that his period of apprenticeship had ended at last, as her father had surmised last night. Her attention was caught by Mr Bennet talking of their departure, and suggesting that it should be set for the following morning.

"So soon!" Elizabeth said.

"Yes, it has already been a lengthy stay, although a pleasant one for us. I shall not be so hesitant to visit another time." At the news that they would be leaving, Kitty unthinkingly looked in Mr Sutcliffe's direction, and quickly looked away again when she found his attention directed back at her. "But we have another stop to make, for Jane and Mr Bingley want us to come and help them christen their new house before we continue to Hertfordshire. I understand they will be leaving today, to ensure everything is ready. To tell the truth," he added, "I would hesitate to invite guests to a house one has only just begun to inhabit, without ensuring that the chimneys are clear and the floors solid. They are even starting out with new servants, I think. But the Bingleys are an intrepid family, and rise easily to such challenges."

"I should not attempt it either!" Mrs Spencer exclaimed. "But then, their visitors are family, who can be counted upon to excuse any temporary deficiencies."

"_Most_ families would likely be indulgent in such cases," Mr Bennet agreed.

"I believe others are leaving soon as well," Mrs Spencer said. "Mr Spencer and I must say good-bye later today, and so will my brothers."

Kitty once again glanced in Mr Sutcliffe's direction at the news of his immediate departure, and once more she found herself meeting his gaze. She dropped her eyes as he replied, "Yes, I must get back to Fardale; but I hope to see some of you again very soon."

The late sleepers began to arrive in the breakfast room, including a rather ill looking Mr Hurst, who grumbled with the merest veneer of humour when his wife praised Pemberley, but admitted she would be glad to be back in town. "I am used to London," she said, "and never quite get accustomed to the country. Everyone present excepted, there seem to be so few people to talk to compared to London, and the streets in town are always bustling, full of activity."

"Full of beggars, would be more accurate," her husband said. "Leave the theatre, leave an assembly, there they will be, waiting on the street. Every manner of misfortune, laid out before me, all with their hands out for money, or else aiming to pick your pocket. Lame, blind, or old; girls with fatherless children, children with no mothers, whatever it may be, all calling out for a penny. At least in the country, I don't see this kind of thing every time I go outdoors. Wish I didn't have to look at them in town, either; it would certainly be a relief."

"They continue to exist," a soft voice remarked, "even if we don't happen to see them."

Everyone looked with surprise at Mr Gaveston, who had barely spoken a word until now. Mr Henry Sutcliffe, catching the older gentleman's eye, said, "True enough, Sir." His elder brother snorted in amusement.

Mr Hurst looked mildly affronted. "Thought we had only _one_ parson at the table, not a pair of them," he muttered, returning to his breakfast, which appeared to be causing him some unease.

The conversation became more general, and Kitty concentrated on her meal. As they both left the table simultaneously, Elizabeth asked Kitty if she would like to come along on a walk, and to visit some of the residents of the estate. She readily agreed, as did Jane. Georgiana, however, indicated that she would prefer to stay behind, and was left talking with Sir Joseph and his family.

The inevitable talk of the ball gave way to remarks on the guests: who had danced most or least, who looked particularly well, and who was most amusing. Kitty described her dealings with Oliver, which charmed both her sisters, then remarked on Mr Hurst's usual means of enjoying an assembly. "Mrs Hurst does not even seem to mind," she said. "She just had him helped to his room, and went on as she had done. I suppose she has grown used to it."

"She is very tolerant and patient," Jane said, "and I'm sure her affection for her husband makes his little faults seem insignificant."

"I think it would trouble me a great deal more," Kitty said. "He scarcely notices his wife. All he seems to have any interest in is eating and drinking, playing cards, and hunting."

"Perhaps so, and I might feel the same as you; but I cannot disagree with Louisa's way of regarding it. Mr Hurst is a respectable man. He is not unkind to his wife, and does nothing really wrong beyond a slight overindulgence in food and drink. She depends on her friends for society, rather than her husband, as many women do."

"I suppose you are right," Kitty conceded.

"Mr and Mrs Hurst are a good match, I think," Elizabeth said. "She has all she wants: a comfortable establishment and plenty of money, and freedom to do almost anything she chooses, as long as she does not hinder Mr Hurst in his few amusements. Mr Hurst, in turn, has a wife that causes him as little inconvenience as possible, whom he can make happy with nothing more than a generous allowance and access to congenial company and the diversions of London during most of the year. They will always be happy provided neither of them comes to want more."

"Exactly," Jane agreed. "We must accept that not everyone is made happy by the same means."

"What do you think of Mr Darcy's great-uncle and his wife?" Kitty asked. "They are an...unusual couple."

Elizabeth laughed. "Yes, they are a good example of Jane's precept about happiness taking different forms. They have what might be called a marriage of convenience, but a merry one. Mrs Chatfield is quite frank about it. Justice Chatfield married at a rather advanced age, and chose a pretty young lady from a family with a noble name and history, but no fortune. Both she and her relations were raised out of poverty by the marriage. Justice Chatfield wanted only a handsome wife to display like a prize, and a son to leave his fortune to; and Mrs Chatfield considered it a fair bargain. She is now about thirty-eight, has provided her husband with children, and may do as she pleases, provided she does not bring shame on the family. She attends dances and parties, goes to concerts and the theatre, enjoys herself with her friends, and spends two months of every year at Bath. Her husband accompanies her occasionally, but more often she goes where she will with her daughters or her sisters. She and her husband, she says, are the greatest of friends."

"It _is_ an odd marriage," Kitty mused, "but you are right, it seems they must both be content." Something else occurred to her. "That gentleman who came with Sir Joseph and his wife - Mr Gaveston? Has he been an invalid?"

"No, I think not," Elizabeth answered, looking puzzled. "Why do you ask?" Kitty repeated what she had been told of the gentleman's absence from society for an extended time. "Ah, I see. No, Mr Gaveston is a widower. His sister told me that after his wife's death some years ago, he became quite a recluse, and only in the last year or two has returned to his normal way of life."

"Oh, that's so sad!" Kitty exclaimed. "I hope he is well now. He seems a very amiable man."

"I believe he is quite well. Sometimes it is best to allow grief to run its course. His sister thinks he has been fully recovered for some time."

They paused at the stables to look in, as usual, on the litter of rapidly growing puppies. "What a shame you can't keep them all," Kitty said, reaching in to pet them.

"We are keeping only one, but the others have good homes waiting for them, once they are old enough," Elizabeth said. She took a moment to caress Folly and continued their walk. "I planned to stop and look in on the gatekeeper, and leave some medicine for his wife."

"Rose is still there, I suppose?" Kitty asked.

"Yes; although we shall have to find a permanent place for her before long."

"Does Georgiana know about her yet?"

"We plan to tell Georgiana after she and her daughter have left Pemberley. She is not easily rattled, as you know; but we would not want to make her uncomfortable if it could be helped."

They arrived at the cottage, where Elizabeth stopped only briefly, greeted the gatekeeper and Rose, asked after Mrs Munt's health, and delivered the bottle from the apothecary, expressing her hopes that it would be beneficial. From there, they crossed the estate by the shortest way possible, to deliver some provisions to an elderly pensioner, a former servant at the house. "Is Mr Spooner to have a pensioner's cottage?" Kitty asked.

"That remains to be seen. A cottage is available to him if he wishes; but he may go to Lambton to live with his daughter and her family instead. At present, he is still residing in the butler's room while he decides. We do not like to hurry him."

Elizabeth led them to the distant cottage which Kitty remembered as the home of Margaret Chamberlain and her daughter, Grace. They found her working at a sketch while her own child and her daily charge, Agnes, played together nearby. Elizabeth left some food, ostensibly for the children, and some garments for little Grace, and asked how the two girls got on together.

"Very well, Ma'am. They have been like sisters since the day they first met."

"Good morning, Agnes; Grace."

Young Grace only ducked her head shyly, but Agnes replied, "Good morning, Mrs Danncy."

"It's Mrs _Darcy_, Agnes," Miss Chamberlain corrected, and the child immediately revised her greeting.

Kitty looked over at the two. Miss Chamberlain's daughter was nursing a cloth doll. Agnes had left off playing, and was staring at the candle Miss Chamberlain had lit, apparently to assist in preparing some of her art materials. Kitty had begun to think that the child was daydreaming and had forgotten their presence; but after a moment she suddenly asked, "Why does the fire stand up?"

Miss Chamberlain glanced apologetically at her guests, but Elizabeth smiled and asked, "What was that, Agnes?"

"The fire on the candle! It always sits up straight. See?" Looking up at them, Agnes seemed to find no sign of comprehension, and went on impatiently, "Why should it sit up? The cup sits up straight, because it is hard." She pointed to a jar in which Miss Chamberlain kept paintbrushes. "But fire is soft!"

"Soft? How is fire soft?" Kitty asked, intrigued in spite of herself.

"It is so soft that things go right through it, like air." Miss Chamberlain, grasping some of the child's meaning, obliging ran a pencil through the candle flame to demonstrate. "There! If it is soft, it should droop down, like _this_." She draped a bit of cloth from her dress over her hand, letting it hang down. "But the fire stands straight up! Even if you hold the candle to one side, the fire still points right straight up." She picked up the candle and tilted it to demonstrate.

"Yes, so it always does," Elizabeth replied. Grace, wishing to take part as best she could, had her doll walk across the tabletop and seem to examine the candle with its button eyes.

"But what makes the fire stand up? Why does it always point up, and not bend sideways when the candle does, or tumble off? What is pulling it up?" the child demanded.

The three women looked at each other. "I cannot tell you, Agnes," Elizabeth said.

Agnes stared at the candle. "Does _anybody_ know?"

"Not that I am aware of. Perhaps it is still undiscovered." Agnes sighed deeply. "Should I ever hear of an answer to this mystery, Agnes, I shall make a point of letting you know."

"Thank you." The child sat back down on the floor with her companion and resumed her former task of making a doll's dress from scraps of ribbon. Miss Chamberlain caught Elizabeth's eye, with an expression that told of many such conversations with Agnes.

The visitors soon took their leave and walked on. "Do you see what I meant?" Elizabeth said to Jane.

"I do. The child is certainly thoughtful beyond her years. Do you still plan to make an offer to her mother?"

"To send Agnes to school? Yes, most definitely. However, I think she would only accept if she were able to live nearby. I doubt she could bear having her daughter sent away to school. Their attachment is intense; understandable, perhaps, given Rose's isolation, and the sufferings they have endured together. But perhaps a way can be found."

They made one more stop before turning back to Pemberley, the gardeners and passing servants pausing to respectfully curtsey or remove their caps as she passed - all but Mr MacTavish, the gamekeeper, who gave her a surly glance and a tug at his cap as he strode by. "Does that man dislike you?" Jane asked, looking after him in surprise.

Elizabeth laughed. "No, it is only his way. Kitty, I believe you encountered him before?"

"Yes, and he was just the same."

"He is an excellent gamekeeper, and I understand Mr Darcy's father owed him some particular debt of gratitude which allows him to stay here regardless of his manner. He is never truly disrespectful; only a little eccentric."

Kitty was intrigued by the personal debt toward this gruff servant, but was distracted by recollecting another question she wished to ask. "Lizzy, may I ask again about Lydia's request? I thought I heard aunt Gardiner say something about a position for Mr Wickham."

"You're right. Our uncle was willing to intervene with a gentleman he knows, who is in business in London. He is able to offer Mr Wickham a place." Her expression was grim.

"You do not seem happy about it. Is the position very poor?"

"No, it is excellent, especially for someone untried in the field. I am only concerned for Uncle. His reputation with his colleague would suffer if he were to recommend someone who turns out to be unreliable."

Kitty understood that this was not an unlikely eventuality, where Mr Wickham was concerned. "Have you written to Lydia?"

"Yes, I wrote telling her to expect a letter from her uncle, so that Mr Wickham has time to decide whether he will accept the position. He almost certainly _will_ accept it, I should think."

"Lydia will be able to live in London again," Kitty observed.

"She will like that," Elizabeth replied drily.

They arrived at Pemberley to find Mr Sutcliffe preparing to depart. "Mrs Darcy! I'm glad you are here. I did not want to go without taking leave." He spoke to Elizabeth, but his eyes met Kitty's for a moment as he did. "Many thanks for your kind hospitality."

"It is always a pleasure having you here, Mr Sutcliffe," Elizabeth replied, offering her hand. "Goodbye, and have a safe journey."

"Thank you. Good bye, Mrs Bingley," he said, bowing to Jane. "Miss Bennet." He bowed once more, smiling at Kitty. "I look forward to seeing you again very soon." He hurried out the front door to the waiting carriage. His brother and the Spencers took their leave and followed a moment later. Kitty belatedly wondered at his final words, but concluded they must have been slightly ill-chosen words of courtesy.

Jane and Mr Bingley departed in the early afternoon, after ensuring that directions to Kingswood were clear to anyone who planned to visit their new estate. They bid a friendly goodbye to everyone, and Kitty took Alice from her nurse to give her a kiss before she was borne off to the carriage. The rest of the afternoon was taken up with packing and preparing for the next day's journey.

Most of the remaining guests departed over the course of the day, and the Bennets found only the Darcys, Sir Joseph and his wife, and Mr Gaveston to take leave of the following morning. They set out down the winding road away from Pemberley, finally turning to the west just as the house fell out of their view. "I did not think this was the way to Jane's new house," Kitty said, looking out the carriage window.

"No, not directly. Did you forget that we had another visit to make first?" her father replied.

"Another visit? No, I didn't know. Where are we going?"

"Why, Mr Sutcliffe has invited us to stay at the parsonage for a few days. I thought your mother must have said something to you about it."

"Why, yes, to be sure, I did tell you!" Mrs Bennet exclaimed. "Did I not?"

"No!" Kitty exclaimed. "I had no idea." She found this news unsettling, for having managed to accept the departure of Mr Sutcliffe with tolerable calm, and taught herself to bear with the fact that she was probably not to see him again for many months, at least, it came as a shock to discover that she would be rejoining him almost immediately, and even residing at his home for some period of time. It was a prospect at once attractive and troubling, for the continued pleasure of his company was balanced by the strain of constantly guarding her words and actions in his presence. The matter had been settled, however, and with no credible objection, she could only resign herself to the visit, and take the opportunity of their short journey to prepare herself to be composed.


	36. The Parsonage at Fardale

_"A man would always wish to give a woman a better home than the one he takes her from."  
>J<em>_ane Austen_

* * *

><p>Kitty was spared the need to participate in conversation as they drove. Mrs Bennet talked on at length about the elegance of the ball at Pemberley and speculated on the nature of Jane's new house, while Mr Bennet read a book as best he could in the jostling carriage, and Mary attempted a short reply to her mother from time to time, which was ignored. Kitty watched the passing scenery, remembering the area well from her last journey to and from Fardale. The view, at least, was enjoyable, for she found the countryside in this area lovely, and remembered the walks around Fardale as particularly charming.<p>

The drive was not long, and soon the town came in sight, then the spire of the little stone church. Kitty gave herself the necessary reminders of how to conduct herself, and what ideals and examples to look to for guidance, but her heart still beat faster as the carriage drew up in front of the parsonage. The housekeeper came to the door, but Mr Sutcliffe strode past her, smiling and bidding them welcome. They were brought through the small but neat entrance hall into the front sitting room, where they also greeted the elder Mr Sutcliffe, were made comfortable and offered refreshment.

"Are your sister and her husband not still here?" Mr Bennet asked their host.

Mr Edwin Sutcliffe answered for him. "They are out studying the local flora and fauna together, as usual."

"Well, Mr Sutcliffe," Mrs Bennet exclaimed, looking around, "you have a perfectly presentable little house here. I have seen many a worse parsonage."

Kitty blushed at such insultingly faint praise, but Mr Sutcliffe only smiled. "Yes, I have been fortunate in my placement."

Anxious to avoid any further observations from her mother, Kitty remarked, "I believe you have made some improvements to the house."

"A few. Fortunately, my sister was on hand to advise me. I hope you will approve of the changes. I would be glad of a lady's opinion on the matter."

Having finished their tea, the family were taken to their rooms and allowed some time to rest, then, at Mrs Bennet's request, shown the rest of the house. Kitty saw that the changes were indeed few, but effective in improving the interior. She noticed small alterations everywhere: a new rug in the sitting room, more comfortable and less sparse furnishings, and the rooms arranged in a more pleasing order than previously. Kitty had liked the house before, but now found it still more agreeable, not at all given to splendour beyond its state as a country parsonage, but to tasteful design and a sense of restful comfort, and she gave her unqualified approval of the improvements. It was certainly not so fine as the house she had just left, nor even so fine as Longbourn, but it seemed to her that it looked and felt as a home should. Mary offered her more considered approval with the addition of one or two passages on luxury and moderation from Tertullian, and Mrs Bennet repeated her view that it was quite acceptable for a parsonage. Mr Bennet made some remarks on the eclectic compilation of books in Mr Sutcliffe's small library, the room which held the most interest for him. They were then invited to walk in the house's garden and the surrounding terrain and enjoy the fine weather, where former visitors noted some small changes to the gardens as well.

The kitchen garden had been much expanded, and it reminded Kitty of the summer she and Jane had tended an herb garden of their own, when Kitty was twelve or thirteen. She had taken great delight in tending her plants, and had even decorated the little plot with bows tied upon the trellis of sticks, and small handmade banners places at the corners of the garden. She and Jane had hung bundles of herbs to dry, and the wash-house had smelled of lavender for months. That was before Lydia had taken charge of Kitty, and such mundane pleasures had been deemed dull and silly. Kitty walked thoughtfully around the parsonage garden, thinking of how many simple enjoyments she had abandoned due to Lydia's influence or mockery, and enjoying a sense of nostalgia, and of regaining the claim to her own tastes and interests, dull or silly though they might be. She looked down at the rows of homely and useful plants with great affection.

While Kitty spoke little, lost in her own thoughts, her enjoyment of the house and grounds was apparent enough to be taken as a commendation, and Mr Sutcliffe was prepared to accept it as such. He did not trouble his guests for more of their thoughts on his home, but allowed them to stroll undisturbed. As they returned to the house, the housekeeper entered with a letter, which she said had just been brought to the door by one of the parishoners, who was waiting for a reply. Mr Sutcliffe quickly opened and read the note, then turned to the Bennets. "I'm sorry, but I shall have to leave you at once, perhaps for some time. There has been a death in one of my families." He acknowledged the Bennets' expressions of sympathy, and went on, "My housekeeper will look after you. You remember Mrs March, I'm sure, ladies?" He turned to the housekeeper, a plump, jovial woman in her thirties. "Mrs March, I know you'll make our guests comfortable. Indulge their every whim."

"Yes, Sir," she replied with a smile.

"The same applies to any other guests who arrive while I am away. I cannot say how late I shall be back; and I must likely be with the family for much of tomorrow, and help them arrange for the burial."

"By all means," Mr Bennet said. "Do not let us interfere with your work."

Mr Sutcliffe thanked him, bid them a hasty goodbye, and went to the front door, where the Bennets could hear him speaking soothingly to the messenger. Moments later, they heard the sound of a carriage departing down the road. Mrs March urged them to ring if she could do anything for them, and retreated to the kitchen. Mary and Mr Bennet directly installed themselves in the library, while Mrs Bennet, finding no company, food, or amusement to fill the time, occupied herself with walking through the house, examining the furnishings in closer detail and guessing at their probable cost. Kitty returned outside, where she walked for some time, refreshing her memory of the surroundings which had pleased her so well on her earlier visit. Returning to the house only long enough to choose a book, she went to a well shaded bench just outside the kitchen garden, sat quietly and read for an hour, taking equal pleasure in her reading, and in the fine day, the cool breeze, and the view of the distant landscape which she surveyed each time she paused to turn a page. She returned to the house just in time to dress and tidy her hair before dinner. The Spencers had returned from their ramble and were prepared to keep the conversation lively throughout the meal.

As coffee was served in the sitting room, as Mrs Spencer was assisting her husband in organizing his notes from the day, and Mr Edwin Sutcliffe was reading, Mr Bennet took an opportunity to speak with the housekeeper. "Mrs March, is it? I noticed that Mr Sutcliffe's address is given as Seddon Cottage. Not an entirely suitable name for a house of this size, I think."

"Yes, Sir, but the house itself has changed since it was given that name. The cottage was built on and made larger some years ago. It was once part of a great estate that has been broken up, and this house and land given to the church. The people here mostly call it the parsonage, or St Thomas parsonage; but its proper name is Seddon Cottage."

"And the owner of this great estate is the keeper of the living, I take it?"

"That's right, Sir."

"How did Mr Sutcliffe come to be offered the living? It seems a tolerably good one, especially for a country parish, and he is a young man not long in orders."

"I don't know, Sir. I heard that some gentleman recommended him."

"Mr Darcy, perhaps?"

"That may be right, Sir."

"And does the estate owner involve himself in the management of the house and the life of the resident clergyman, as some great people prefer to do?" Kitty presumed he was thinking of Lady Catherine.

"Not in the least, Sir. He bestows the living, and pays for repairs on the house and church, and that is all. I have never heard of His Lordship coming here, or so much as writing a letter to the parsonage."

"I see. May I ask if you've been in Mr Sutcliffe's employ for long?"

"Almost three years now, Sir. I was Mr Sutcliffe's housemaid when he first came here straight from Cambridge, and Mr March his manservant; then I was promoted to housekeeper after little more than a year."

"That is rather unusual!"

"Yes, Sir, I'm sure it is. You see, the master began here with only two servants, my husband and myself. The house was a little too much for us alone, and at last we spoke to him, and right away, Mr Sutcliffe said, 'I know, I must hire more servants. I cannot put it off any longer!' And then he asked if I would like to be housekeeper. I told him I had no experience with such a position, and he said he wanted someone he knew and could trust and rely on - very kind of him to say this, I think - and he would be patient if it took me some time to learn the work."

"And has he, in fact, been patient?"

"Yes, Sir! Lord save me, he is a very easy master! He made me housekeeper, and my husband...well," she laughed, "his position is stable-master by name, only because Mr Sutcliffe could not be more exact. He said the house is not great enough to need a butler or a steward, yet it still needs some management, and that Mr March was too important to him to be a mere footman, so they made up a contract, in writing and all, on what Mr March would be asked to do; and since he oversees the horses, he agreed to take the title of stable-master, although there is a stable-boy to do most of the work, and Mr March sees to many other matters within the house. Mr Sutcliffe pays us both the same, however."

"Good Heavens! It is an eccentric household, after all; although if the servants are content, why should I quibble at his methods? I can see that you and your husband are no longer the sole servants here."

"Oh, by no means! He did hire more servants, two new ones just in the past few months, and now the house can be kept up properly. We were finally able to open and put to use all the rooms that had been kept closed up until a short while ago."

"It sounds somewhat disorganized."

"Perhaps a bit, Sir, but we have little to complain of - and I believe it _is_ well organized, now that we have men and maids enough. Even if it were otherwise, a kind master would be worth a great deal of confusion in the management of the house." Mr Bennet nodded as if satisfied, and Mrs March set out the coffee cups and withdrew.

Mr Sutcliffe did not reappear until after dark. He appeared a little subdued, and Mr Bennet inquired discreetly about his day's occupation. "I'm afraid you have had a distressing afternoon. Was the deceased well known to you?"

"No, not known at all," he said smiling oddly, "for there was no time to know him. It is an infant less than two weeks old who has died."

"Oh, how terrible!" Kitty exclaimed, her mind turning at once to her niece Alice.

Mr Sutcliffe looked at her, seeming grateful for her sympathy. "It is, terrible indeed; no less terrible for being a common event. The parents suffer greatly." He gave his attention to the other Bennets. "The funeral is to be tomorrow afternoon. I will not burden you by asking you to attend, especially as the people involved are strangers to you; but only say that you are welcome to join the service if you wish."

The housekeeper approached him quietly. "Mr Sutcliffe, will you take some dinner?"

"No, thank you, Mrs March. I dined with the family." He looked around at his guests. "I hope _you_ have all..."

"Yes, of course, Sir," Mrs March cut in. "We served dinner at the usual time."

"Naturally, Mrs March. Well, I hope you will excuse my frequent absence over the next day or two. I will go to the Dandridge family tomorrow morning, and perhaps accompany them to the funeral service. I may not be at home again until tomorrow evening. I had looked forward to your visit, but such matters must take precedence." Kitty's eye caught Mr Edwin Sutcliffe, whose face seemed to express tolerant resignation in the presence of folly.

"You need not explain, Mr Sutcliffe," Mr Bennet said. "It is part of your profession, and of course is your principal duty. In any case, we are well taken care of here, until such time as you are free."

"Thank you." He stayed and talked with them for another hour or more, his mood more serious than was usual for him, but cordial as ever. He was gone from the house by the time the Bennets came to breakfast the next morning. Mrs Bennet declared the funeral of an infant too distressing for her to attend, but Mr Bennet and his daughters, along with the Spencers, went to the church at the appointed time, taking their place in the back to avoid intruding on the genuine mourners. There was a fairly large group of family and friends, gathered around a rather shabby man with a dazed and overwhelmed expression, whom Kitty presumed to be the deceased child's father. The mother, she supposed, was still confined to bed following the birth of her child; or perhaps she was unable to face attendance at the funeral. Kitty's eyes fell on the coffin, pathetic in its diminutive size, and in her mind she prayed awkwardly for the child and its distraught family.

Fardale's Church of Saint Thomas did not yet have a pipe organ, or even a choir loft; only an alcove from which a small choir led the congregation in song. They also followed the country tradition of a gallery band which sometimes accompanied the voices. As the only musician present was an elderly man with an hautbois, Mr Sutcliffe left the pulpit to join him on his violin, leading the chorus of six voices in a familiar hymn. Kitty had never seen such a practice in church, but found the unassuming simplicity of it moving, and highly appropriate for an infant's funeral. She sang along quietly, feeling no embarrassment for the tears that occasionally fell from her eyes.

As the funeral ended, and the sole pallbearer prepared to carry the tiny coffin from the church, Mrs Spencer whispered to the Bennets, "The family will almost certainly ask you to join them for a meal afterward; a simple affair, for they are a farm family of limited means. I do not wish to impose on you, but as I'm sure my brother would explain, they will consider it a gesture of particular sympathy if you should agree to join them."

"And take it as a gesture of ill will if we refuse, I suppose?" Mr Bennet replied drily. Mrs Spencer merely cast him a conciliatory look. Accordingly, after the burial was completed, on being approached in the churchyard and issued the expected invitation by the deceased child's grandfather, both the Bennets and the Spencers accepted without the slightest hesitation. They were directed to a farm house some distance away, where a meal was being laid out on makeshift tables consisting of boards laid across stationary objects, the guests taking a seat upon the few benches set out, or on rugs laid upon the ground. Kitty, along with all the 'gentry' were urged to take a seat inside the house, where luxuries such as chairs and tables were available. Kitty observed Mr Sutcliffe sitting across the room, consuming the brown bread and cheese and home-made cider and talking with the mourners with apparent ease. Mr Swanscott, the clergyman from the parish near Longbourn, had always shunned events at the homes of the lower classes, limiting his contact with them to ceremonies within the church; but Kitty found Mr Sutcliffe's more egalitarian practices, after very short consideration, to be more fitting for a clergyman.

She sat quietly, eating and drinking, and listened to the guests condole with family members. At length she noticed that a small child had found a hiding place next to a sideboard in a corner near her chair, where he sat curled up, hugging his knees, and staring fixedly at the floor. Hesitantly, Kitty asked him, "Would you not like something to eat?" The boy shook his head without looking up at her. Wondering if the child could have been separated from his parents in the throng, and noting that in his present location he would be all but impossible to find, she asked him whether he was lost, and if he wanted her help finding his mother or father. Another head shake, but this time, the child looked up at her. "They are right there," he said, looking across the room to where the deceased baby's parents sat.

She made the obvious assumption. "Your name is Dandridge?" He nodded. "The little baby who died, then, was your brother?" Kitty became alarmed when this question resulted in the boy's face distorting with sorrow. He buried his head in his arms, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Kitty looked around for any appropriate source of help. The grieving parents clearly had enough to deal with, and she did not know which of those present were familiar to the boy. Reluctantly accepting that her proximity made her the reasonable choice of comforter, at least for the moment, Kitty shifted her chair closer to where the weeping child sat. She felt ill equipped to help, but tried to gather any memories she retained of consolation for her own past sorrows which had been welcome and effective, and put them to what use she could. "I'm so sorry. It must be very sad for you." There was a pause, then a nod, although the crying continued. "What was his name?"

"Robert," came the muffled reply. The child sniffled, rubbed his face, and finally looked up. "We called him Robby."

"That's a lovely name." Another nod, and more tears. "You must have loved him very much."

"I did!" the boy exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. "I didn't want him to die!" He glared across the room at the people gathered. "_They_ keep saying I should be happy, because Robby is happy in Heaven, but I don't _want_ him to be in Heaven! I want him to be here with me, and grow up and be my little brother!"

"Of course you do." The boy looked at her, as at an uncertain ally. "It's terrible that he had to go away, and so soon, when he was only here a week or two."

The boy agreed wholeheartedly. "How can I be happy that he died?"

"Well...I suppose we can be sad for ourselves that we've lost someone, and happy for him at the same time." The boy was silent, giving her the same wary look as earlier. "Poor Robby must have been very ill, to have died so young." He agreed that this was the case. "He must have been in pain, and being just a tiny baby, could not bear it very well, or even understand it. How terrible it must have been for him." The child nodded, his eyes wide, distracted from his tears by this directness. "But then..." Kitty drew on her meager knowledge of the theology of the afterlife, partially enhanced by her recent reading. "Then, for him, the suffering would have suddenly ended, and he would have found himself in a perfect place, free of pain or fear, and knowing nothing but joy. What a relief that must have been!"

The boy nodded cautiously, his eyes distant, apparently trying to imagine his brother's ordeal, and ultimate release, in this light. "Yes...Mama tried to help him get well, but he could not get well."

"If a baby was ill, and could not be made well, then anyone who loved him, what price would they not pay to give him such perfect relief, such perfect joy? I'm sure _you_ would pay whatever it cost, to do the same for Robby."

The child looked up at her, confused. "What would it cost?"

"A high price. You are paying it now. You, and your mother and father, have to feel sorrow and pain, so that Robby could be freed of it, and have perfect happiness."

This economic way of regarding things seemed to be more potent than earlier forms of consolation. "_I_ would do that for Robby!" the boy said, straightening himself as though preparing for some daunting challenge.

"I'm sure you would." Kitty forebore to mention that the task of grieving would have no actual effect on his brother's fate, and was dropped upon the family for good or ill, rather than chosen as an act of benevolence, and she hoped the child would not come to that realization for some time.

"Do you really think Robby is happy in Heaven?" he asked, fixing his gaze on her sternly as though charging her on oath to speak nothing but the truth.

"I do, most certainly. He was only a pure, innocent baby. How could he be anywhere else?"

The boy wept once again, but with less ferocity, and once calm, he began to talk to Kitty of his Robby, how happy he had been to have a younger brother, of his hopes for future adventures together, of the infant's many charms, and of his brief final illness. He repeated twice the resolution to accept his own sadness if Robby could be happy. He even grew composed enough to tell Kitty his name, which was Michael, and to ask hers. "Mama and Papa are very sad, too," he confided. "I am going to live with Gran until they feel better." He looked up at Kitty thoughtfully. "Did you ever have a baby who died?"

Kitty stifled her surprised at the question. "No, I have no children." She added, "My sister's baby died some time ago." The words came out before she had thought, and she was a little shocked at herself.

"Oh!" He patted Kitty's arm in artless consolation. "Was he very little, like Robby?"

Kitty did not attempt to explain the notion of a miscarriage. "Even younger than Robby, for he died just as he was born. We never knew him at all."

"I'm sorry! Was his mama very sad?"

"Yes." Kitty recalled Lydia's rather callous reaction to the incident, but decided that a slight deception was justified in this case.

Michael nodded. "But now he's in Heaven, with Robby. Do you suppose there are a lot of babies there?"

"There must be a great many."

Michael was disposed to expand on this reassuring concept, and was interrupted in his contemplation of a higher world filled with blissful, angelic infants by one of his aunts, who apologized to Kitty for her being troubled by the child, and took Michael outside to give him some food. Michael patted Kitty once more on the shoulder before following his aunt out the door.

Kitty moved her chair back to its original place, and tried to finish her bread and cheese and her cider. As she moved, she became aware that Mr Sutcliffe had been watching her, and was close enough by to have heard her entire conversation. He was looking at her with an expression she could not quite decipher; but on this occasion, it was he who quickly looked away as their eyes met.

Mr Sutcliffe continued to visit the Dandridge household over the following two days, but otherwise life at the parsonage went on with few interruptions. Kitty and Mary accompanied Mrs Spencer to Fardale on one occasion, where Kitty obtained a better idea of the town, and saw that it was both larger and better supplied with entertainments than she had thought. It was, at least, no less interesting than Meryton. There was a circulating library, a tolerable selection of shops, and the assembly room which had been mentioned to her previously. Sadly, the monthly ball was scheduled for a time after the Bennets would had departed, as were two concerts and a public card-party.

The Bennets attended church on Sunday at St Thomas, where Mr Sutcliffe suited the weekly sermon to the occasion of Robert Dandridge's untimely passing. Kitty found it even more impressive than the sermons she had attended during their earlier visit, being touching yet without a trace of sentimentality. Even Mr Bennet spoke a few words of approbation to Mr Sutcliffe as they left the church.

At breakfast the following morning, Mr Edwin Sutcliffe inquired whether the Bennets had been shown his brother's newest project. As they expressed curiosity, he said, with the same look of tolerant amusement, "Oh, Henry has decided to 'bind heavy burdens' and place them on his _own_ shoulders. He is trying to establish some sort of aid to the poor, and a school for poor children or orphans, or some such scheme."

Kitty wondered at his satirical tone, and thought she understood why Mr Sutcliffe had once referred to animosity between himself and his older brother. Mr Bennet expressed some interest in this plan, and urged his host to expand on the matter. Looking a little discomposed, he described his efforts to provide necessities to the truly poor of the parish, and to establish a charity school, not exclusively for orphans, but for any child who could benefit. It was also, he added with some firmness, as though expecting opposition, to vary from the usual practice of such refuges, in that it would accept illegitimate children. Mr Edwin Sutcliffe rolled his eyes at this, and Mrs Bennet looked shocked, but Mr Bennet only replied mildly that it seemed a useful and sensible plan.

Encouraged, Mr Sutcliffe went on, "I should be happy to show you what has been set in place so far, if you wish. I invite Miss Mary Bennet in particular, for it was her own efforts in Hertfordshire which encouraged me to attempt something similar here."

Mary was greatly pleased by this attention, and asked if they might all be shown what Mr Sutcliffe had accomplished. Mr Edwin Sutcliffe and Mrs Bennet excused themselves, but the others set out willingly enough, Mr Sutcliffe warning them as they went that his work was very preliminary, so that there was little to see as yet. They were brought by carriage first to a small and rather derelict cottage, which showed signs of recent repair. Mr Sutcliffe unlocked the entrance, showing two rooms lined with shelves, about a fourth of them filled with folded items of clothing, some household implements, and baskets of less perishable varieties of food. "This is for distribution to the indigent of the parish," he explained. "We are still attempting to establish a system by which it will be done."

From the cottage, they moved on to what appeared to be a large and stately house which had fallen on bad times. "The former home of His Lordship's late uncle," Mr Sutcliffe explained. "It was donated for use as a school, and with no reluctance as the building is derelict and something of a burden on the estate; it will require some work before it can be put to use. This is to be the girls' school, and the house you see in the distance, a former steward's residence, will serve as the boys' school."

"This is quite ambitious," Mr Bennet remarked. "I hope you have assistance from some wealthy benefactor."

"A little, yes. Enough to start on, with the hope of receiving future support from the parish and elsewhere."

"It is most impressive, Mr Sutcliffe," Mary told him. "I commend you on your philanthropic endeavours. I hope they may meet with great success."

"Thank you, Miss Bennet. May I wish you the same for your work at home."

Kitty said nothing, taken up with her own thoughts on what she had seen. "Well, Kitty?" Mr Bennet prompted as they returned to the carriage. "Do you not approve?"

"Oh! Yes, of course. It is quite remarkable. I am too astonished to know what to say; it seems like such a formidable task! Few men would dare to try anything of the kind. You are very brave, Mr Sutcliffe."

"Henry is fearless in the face of _almost_ every challenge," Mrs Spencer remarked, smiling at her brother as he looked slightly provoked, leaving Kitty to presume she referred to some private joke between them.


	37. An Unexpected Arrival

_"Visits always give pleasure-if not the arrival, the departure."  
><em>_Portuguese Proverb_

* * *

><p>Early in the week, Mr Bennet announced that they would be departing shortly for Jane's new residence. Kitty once more inwardly prepared herself for a lengthy separation from Mr Sutcliffe, all the more painful as he grew more dear to her the longer their acquaintance extended. Once more, there was a reprieve, for Mr Sutcliffe informed them that he had also been invited to the Bingleys' new home, and that he would cover the short distance and join them there as soon as his visiting relations had taken their leave, which they planned to do shortly. As before, Kitty's reaction was one of pleasure mixed with mild trepidation - although the pleasure of his continued company more and more overshadowed her anxiety at keeping her feelings secret. Mr Sutcliffe's open admiration for Mary's work as the inspiration of his own had left her confused. It suggested a level of regard which might support her idea of an attachment, and yet that regard seemed to be so distinctly limited to admiration of her charitable work as to cast doubt on any such idea. Then, too, Mary herself, although clearly glad of the praise for her efforts, seemed no more than civil toward Mr Sutcliffe, and often appeared to disapprove of his opinions, and to frown on his playful attitude toward serious subjects. He and Mary spoke together far less often than previously, she could not help but notice. While inclined to think she was mistaken about their attachment, Kitty ended by becoming so exhausted at the contradictory evidence as to resolve not to think of the matter again unless one or the other of the pair made an announcement.<p>

The approach to Kingswood was a little familiar to Kitty from the day they had come to see the empty house, and she was able to recognize a few landmarks as they drove up. Jane met them at the door, smiling and holding little Alice in her arms, and Mr Bingley joined them a moment later with warm expressions of welcome. The exterior was much as it had been, but the rooms were quite unrecognizable. The empty and barren space Kitty had once explored was now furnished and decorated, according to Jane's excellent taste, and all the Bennets expressed their approval, each in their own way. Once again, they were taken on a tour, this time of a larger and more elegant home than the one they had just quitted, and were brought to their bedrooms at last with an air of pride and triumph which even the modest Bingleys could not completely avoid.

The time spent at Kingswood was as pleasant as earlier visits to Netherfield had been. The Bingleys were hospitable and ready to provide entertainment, and the novelty of the place itself offered enough to occupy the guests. Walks were taken to the nearby market town, to learn what it might have to offer. Established residents called on the Bingleys to welcome them to the neighbourhood. Kitty spent much time with Alice, who was always ready for infant games with her aunt. The domestic scene was perfected when Mr Sutcliffe joined them at last, an event which Kitty, as always, anticipated with mixed feelings. She became less worried, and more able to enjoy his society, as time went on; for having spent so much time in the same household with Mr Sutcliffe, Kitty was becoming more confident that she could keep her composure in his presence. She was able to indulge in the long conversations with him which she had once so enjoyed, and take pleasure in the mutual understanding and free exchange of ideas which had always been such a happy feature of their discourse. Her only regret during this time was that Mr Sutcliffe was not continually present; he several times rode the short distance back to his own home, to look after parish matters, returning within a day or two if all was well.

It was early afternoon, and the company were together in the house's large sitting room, Mary at the pianoforte and the others talking together, Kitty and Mr Sutcliffe in earnest conversation, when the sound of the front door opening was faintly heard, and a maid entered the room to announce a visitor. "Another new neighbour?" Mr Bingley guessed, rising to his feet. Nearly everyone in the room froze where they were, staring at the doorway, experiencing various degrees of surprise and consternation, as the name of their visitor was announced. "Mrs Wickham, Ma'am."

The maid bobbed a curtsey and withdrew as a familiar form all but ran into the room, wearing a heavily ornamented and daringly cut dress of crimson and pink, looked around curiously, then burst into loud laughter at the sight of the company. "Lord, if you could see your faces! You look as if you had all seen a ghost!"

"Lydia!" Jane said faintly. "What on earth...? I...I did not expect you!"

She laughed again, completely undisturbed by the general reaction to her arrival. "No, I took care you did not, for I thought what fun it would be to arrive without warning, and take you all by surprise. What a house you have, Jane! It would be perfectly marvelous it were not so far out in the country. I do hope it has a ballroom, like Netherfield did." Before she could be invited to take a seat, she danced into the room, still looking around herself, and perched on the chair beside Jane. "Hullo, Mama and Papa! What a long time since we saw each other!"

Mr Sutcliffe, along with the other gentlemen, had risen to his feet on Lydia's entrance, but she had made no attempt to greet even her other acquaintances, let alone wait for introductions to unknown parties. He looked around, evidently puzzled by the startled and uncomfortable reaction of those present to a person they obviously knew well. Kitty sat still, overcome by two thoughts that predominated any others. The first was shock at how unfamiliar her youngest sister had become to her, how jarringly vulgar she seemed in word, gesture, and appearance, in striking contrast to the company Kitty had grown accustomed to. She did not seem like the Lydia whom Kitty remembered from years past, and for an instant she wondered if Lydia had undergone some drastic transformation, perhaps due to illness. But there was enough that was familiar to tell her that it was her own memory which had altered with time, and Lydia was just as she had always been.

The second reaction that troubled her was a powerful sense of shame and distress at having Mr Sutcliffe meet Lydia, observe her, even be aware of her existence as a former Bennet. Kitty felt a great dread of his disapproval, and that it would be extended to herself and her entire family as well as her ill-mannered sister.

Lydia continued to talk, blithely claiming the attention of the entire room. "Wickham has gone away to Bath with his friends, and I got your letter, Jane, giving your new address, so I thought I would come along and see where you were living now. If _he_ can run off and amuse himself, I can certainly do the same, and not sit at home by myself, for there is not a single ball in Newcastle until next month, not one that we can manage an invitation to, and not much more than a card party at Becky Talbot's to pass the evening with. Many of our friends have gone off somewhere for the rest of the summer, you know, and it is awfully dull at times."

Jane at last managed to both recover from her surprise and find a momentary break in Lydia's chatter to perform the necessary task of introductions. "Lydia, this is our good friend Mr Sutcliffe. My sister, Mrs Wickham."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ma'am." Mr Sutcliffe bowed, and Lydia responded by giggling and performing a coquettish flounce in place of a curtsey. Kitty's face burned with embarrassment. She took up her work to give her something to keep her eyes on, hoping that Lydia would conclude, or that she would at least refrain from speaking of anything truly humiliating. Her hope was fruitless. Lydia, happy to be in company from which she felt she had a right to expect attention, talked on, describing with glee her recent outings and parties, the dancing and flirtation she had indulged in, the pranks she had performed and the antics she and her friends had contrived. Mrs Bennet sat close by, and not only listened but actively encouraged her, laughing at her stories and exclaiming that she seemed to have a great deal of fun in Newcastle.

As Lydia paused between stories, her eyes at last turned in Kitty's direction. "Kitty! There you are! I hardly recognize you! Lord, you have changed vastly since you came to see me in Newcastle!"

Kitty tried to smile. "You look very well, Lydia."

"Thank you! Were you not surprised to see me?"

"Very surprised indeed."

"It is very lucky you are here, for we shall have such a grand time together, just like when we were back at Longbourn! Do you remember the time we..."

Jane, who had been engaged in a quick, whispered conference with her husband, interceded at that moment, saying, "Lydia, you must be tired from your journey. Let me show you to your room, and you can refresh yourself before dinner."

Lydia hopped to her feet. "Oh, yes! and can you have your man take my trunk upstairs? It was left in the carriage." Jane hurriedly spoke to the housekeeper about arrangements for the unexpected guest, and Lydia was escorted upstairs, the sound of her voice gradually fading into the distance. Mr Bingley excused himself and left the room, and could be faintly heard instructing one of the servants to fetch the new arrival's trunk.

"Well, isn't that just lovely!" Mrs Bennet exclaimed. "I had no idea of Lydia's joining us here!"

Mr Bennet gave a snort of laughter. "I expect her arrival was a complete surprise to everyone, including the owners of the house in which she has established herself as a guest."

"Well, and why should she not visit her sister? Especially as dear Wickham is away." Mr Bennet made no further attempts to explain his thoughts on the matter, and his wife continued to express her delight at having her youngest and favourite daughter with her again.

Kitty sat quietly over her work, reflecting on all the possible ways in which Lydia's presence could cause her embarrassment, and hoping that, if Lydia must stay, Mr Sutcliffe might at least leave the house before long. Mr Sutcliffe sat beside her in silence, seeming to understand her present disinclination to continue their conversation, if not the reason for it. When Jane returned to the sitting room, Kitty stood and proposed a walk in the gardens before dinner. Only Jane wished to join her, and the two ladies excused themselves and set out.

In the privacy of Kingswood's park, Kitty at last felt free to express herself. "Oh, Jane! Why did she come here, and without warning?"

"Lydia has always been impulsive," replied the forgiving Jane, "and no doubt she felt that no warning was necessary between family."

"But what if Lizzy and Mr Darcy had been here? Or Georgiana?" She thought in horror of Georgiana coming to visit and finding the wife of Mr Wickham among the company.

Belatedly, she remembered that Jane knew nothing of Georgiana's dealings with Mr Wickham; but Jane's attention was fixed on the first part of her statement. "Before I came downstairs, I quickly wrote a note to Lizzy, telling her that Lydia had arrived, and had it delivered at once. She should not be taken by surprise, nor should Mr Darcy. I am not certain he would be entirely comfortable to share a house with Lydia, and he ought to have the choice."

"Good; I'm glad you thought of that, Jane. I am only sorry Mr Sutcliffe has to be here just now."

There was a long pause before Jane answered. "I understand, but Mr Sutcliffe seems to be a most tolerant and forbearing person; and I'm sure he will not blame our family for Lydia's...spontaneity."

"It was so strange to see her again," Kitty said. "It was as though my memory of her had become altered, and I was suddenly reminded of details I had gradually changed in my mind, over time. It reminded me of Louisa."

"Louisa?" Jane repeated, looking puzzled. "Do you mean Louisa Hurst?"

"No, the doll I used to have, which I named Louisa. Do you remember her?"

"Oh, yes! Of course I do. You learned to sew by making clothes for her. But how does she relate to Lydia?"

"I lost Louisa when I was, perhaps, eight years old, and could never find her. Then, many years later, Mrs Hill found her behind a cupboard. She seemed so different, I could hardly believe it was the same doll, and yet I knew it must be, for I recalled the clothing I had made for her, the ribbons I had put in her woollen hair. I remembered her as I saw her when I was little - as a beautiful princess in elegant gowns. When I found her again at seventeen, I saw that she was really a badly made doll dressed in scraps of cloth that had been poorly sewn by a child. I saw how false my memory of her had been, how much of it was in my imagination."

"And meeting Lydia again felt this way to you?"

"Yes. I remember thinking of Lydia as the lively, pretty, high-spirited girl all the gentlemen liked best. I wanted to be as like her as I could, to have her boldness and assurance, to be the one who dared to say what she pleased to anyone, and the one always asked to dance. But now that I see her again...Jane, she is nothing like I remember her! She is coarse and loud, displays herself disgracefully, and her boldness is not courage at all, but only ill manners and conceit. And now that I am with her again, I can see that she was always this way. I had only imagined her differently - just as I did my shoddy little doll." She sighed. "I recognized some of this from Lydia's letters, but that does not compare with seeing and hearing her."

Jane was silent for several minutes. "I cannot completely disagree with your description of Lydia. She was always a very lively and unconstrained girl by nature, whose head was unfortunately too easily turned by admiration; and she married terribly young; too young, I think, to allow her a chance to grow and improve herself before leaving home. I cannot entirely blame her for being...as she is, given her circumstances, but you are correct on the whole." She took Kitty's arm in hers. "I am sorry that it distresses you. I understand that this sudden recognition must be very disagreeable."

"Yes, it is." Kitty frowned as she walked, her eyes on the path before her, seeming lost in thought. "She will bring such contempt on our family!" she exclaimed, recalling at the same time the scorn she and Lydia had once given similar concerns from their elder sisters. "You _know_ that nothing we say will make Lydia be discreet. What must others think of us?"

Jane hid a smile, noting that only two 'others' apart from the Bennet family were present in the house, one already related to Lydia by marriage, and supposing she could guess which 'other' was causing Kitty to worry. "Do not concern yourself, dear. Mr Bingley is familiar with Lydia's manner, and does not judge the rest of us by it; and as I said, Mr Sutcliffe is not a man to harshly censure people for their relations' behaviour." Kitty only nodded, looking uneasy still. "Kitty, dear, perhaps you do not see yourself as we see you; as you are now. You were once led and influenced by Lydia in all things, but since her marriage, you have changed greatly for the better. No one who met you today would find anything to disapprove, and would certainly not find any similarity between your comportment and Lydia's."

Kitty turned to her doubtfully. "Truly, Jane?" She knew her eldest sister's tendency to think favourably of everyone, but her statement was very decided, and did not sound like an attempt to mitigate her faults, but like a frank statement of facts.

"In all honesty, Kitty. Lydia may embarrass you, but she cannot impugn your character - not to anyone who knows you well." Much encouraged, if not entirely convinced, Kitty embraced her sister in thanks, and they turned back to the house to prepare for dinner.

Lydia predominated the conversation at table, as was her nature, with more tales of her adventures in Newcastle; and only when her general remarks became a personal discussion with her mother alone were the others able to talk among themselves. Kitty had waited in fear for Lydia to talk of their exploits as girls, and she did, in fact, cause some embarrassment by references to her own and Kitty's flirtations, their multiple, if fleeting, conquests among the militia during Lydia's last year at Longbourn, and even referred to Kitty's role as Lydia's confidante following her elopement with Mr Wickham. Kitty was inexpressibly glad when Lydia left off her narrative of past glories and took to talking quietly with Mrs Bennet.

Mr Sutcliffe had so far said next to nothing during the meal, and Kitty finally dared to steal a look at him. She was relieved to find that his silence did not appear to stem from shock or disapproval, but only from the difficulty of conversing while Lydia held court. She fervently hoped that Jane was right, and that he could think kindly of the family of such a lady; for whether as a friend, a relation by marriage, or even a seldom seen acquaintance, Mr Sutcliffe's good opinion was something she continued to value greatly, and she recoiled from the idea that Lydia's unseemliness could cause her to lose it.

Lydia continued to be gay and boisterous through the evening, and to control much of the discourse. She several times repined over the small number in the party, which prevented them from being able to have a proper dance. At last her attention was drawn by the suggestion of a game of cards, and she gladly joined her mother, Mr Bingley, and Mary at a table in the corner, leaving the remaining three able to talk in peace.

At breakfast the following morning, Lydia at last became acquainted with her niece, who was sitting on Jane's lap at the table. Lydia came downstairs last of all, greeted everyone cheerfully, and stopped when she saw the baby. "La! This must be your little girl, Jane! Alice, is that her name? Hello, Alice! Oh, she will be a beauty, there is no doubt of it." Lydia ruffled the child's hair and pinched her cheeks until Alice began to protest vocally, and Lydia immediately drew back. "Good lord, she is very ill-humoured in the mornings!" she laughed, and immediately lost all interest in the child. She helped herself to breakfast, and began talking to Jane of what assemblies and balls were to be had in her new part of the country.

The maid brought the morning post, which included a short letter for Jane addressed in what looked like Elizabeth's handwriting; and Kitty received a letter which had been redirected to her from Pemberley. It was from Maria Lucas, and provided news of the long-expected proposal of marriage from her Mr Sallow. Maria, fortunately, had taken no offence at Kitty's cautionary advice in her last letter, but was touched by the friendly concern, however unneeded. The others looked up at her quiet exclamation. "What is it, Kitty?" her mother asked. "Bad news?"

"No - quite good news, I think. Maria Lucas is engaged to be married."

Jane expressed her good wishes for the couple, and Mrs Bennet exclaimed, "How nice! Lady Lucas will be pleased to have a second daughter married. I suppose we will be home for the wedding. I shall have to think what to wear."

"Good Lord! Maria?" Lydia cried. "I can hardly believe she has found someone to marry her, and so young! Is it another dreadful clergyman, like her older sister had to settle for?" Jane quietly remonstrated with Lydia, fearing that she had offended Mr Sutcliffe, but he appeared to be merely amused by the remark.

"It is a Mr Alfred Sallow, a barrister from Kent," Kitty told her.

"Then Maria will live closer to her sister Charlotte," Jane said, smiling.

Lydia snorted. "If _that_ is to be called an advantage! She will have to visit with Mr Collins as well as Charlotte, and go and pay homage to that great lady who orders everyone about." At Jane's surprised look, she added, "I heard Lizzy talking to you about it. What a life Charlotte must lead! But perhaps she does not mind, for she was always very dull; and what more can be expected for such a plain girl? She was _twenty-seven_ when she married, and everybody thought she would end as an old maid."

Mrs Bennet nodded. "That is very true, my dear. Poor Charlotte _was_ plain, and to give her credit, she did the best she could under such circumstances. Better than I would ever have expected, for now she will inherit Longbourn some day, and I'm sure she was never pretty enough to expect such a piece of luck."

"When will Maria's wedding be?" Jane asked.

"The date is not set, but she says she expects it will be soon," Kitty replied, re-reading her letter. Maria was very pleased indeed, seemed to have great hopes for her future happiness, spoke glowingly of her dear Alfred, and hoped Kitty would be available to act as a bridesmaid. Before closing, she wished her friend equal good fortune in finding a congenial husband, which made Kitty momentarily sad, before she reminded herself of her resolution to be stalwart.

During the course of the day, Lydia's restlessness was soothed as much as possible by offering her what diversions were available at Kingswood, but as she was not long entertained by anything that did not involve a public gathering, she lost interest quickly. At last, Jane proposed walking to the nearby town, where she would have an opportunity to shop, look at the townsfolk, see the modest assembly hall and the circulating library, and be seen and, possibly, admired by young gentlemen. Mrs Bennet gladly joined the party, and Kitty inwardly thanked Jane for her unselfishness.

As Mr Bennet read and Mary practiced on the pianoforte which the Bingleys had just acquired, Kitty talked easily with Mr Bingley and Mr Sutcliffe, who had become tolerably good friends. At length, Mr Bingley suggested taking advantage of the fine weather and walking in Kingswood's park, which none except Kitty had seen, and then only briefly. Mary chose to remain with her music, and Mr Bennet with his book, and the remaining three set out to circle the park. Mr Bingley pointed out features of interest, and he and Mr Sutcliffe talked together, while Kitty enjoyed surveying the charming grounds. At one point, Mr Bingley excused himself to speak with his stable attendants, and Kitty and Mr Sutcliffe slowly walked on until he could rejoin them. Presently he made some remark about Lydia's walk to town, and asked when Kitty had seen her sister last. Kitty answered simply, unsure of what he might be thinking.

"May I ask - is Mrs Wickham the sister for whom you had such concern last year?" At Kitty's surprised look, he went on, "You once expressed fear that your sister may not be happy - but excuse me if I intrude."

"Oh! I remember now; I had not thought you heard me. Yes, I was a little worried about Lydia. You heard her describe the unorthodox means by which she was married; and we all had concerns about her situation; but perhaps there is less cause for anxiety than I had thought."

"I hope that is the case. Your sister certainly appears to be in good spirits."

"Good spirits! Yes, that is certainly true. Lydia is almost always in good spirits." She paused a moment, wondering whether it would be best to ignore Lydia's behaviour, as Mr Sutcliffe seemed willing to do; but he always seemed to invite openness and make disclosure effortless. "I am sure you could not help but notice that Lydia's manner is very...unguarded and forward. It is noticed by everyone, and although it may seem wrong to openly criticize a sister, it seems worse to let it go on without at least an apology. I hope you will not think less of me...of _us_...that is, of my family, because of Lydia's behaviour."

"I would not think of blaming anyone for the eccentricities of their relations; much less anyone I...anyone whom I hold in such high regard as yourself."

This assurance, especially directed as it was to herself in particular in addition to her family, was received by Kitty with the greatest pleasure; but she remained outwardly calm. "Thank you."

He smiled. "I must confess, I was very much astonished on meeting your younger sister. I have seen few sisters who are as unlike one another as yourself and Mrs Wickham. You appear surprised to hear me say so."

"Well...yes, I am surprised. I was once regarded as almost a mirror image of Lydia. When we were girls at Longbourn, I followed Lydia wherever she went, copied what she said and did. I wanted to be like her, for she seemed to me more brave and assured than any girl I knew. She has not changed at all."

"Then I must conclude that _you_ have changed greatly since that time. And without relinquishing your goal of bravery, for you seem to me a most courageous young lady."

"Me? I'm sure you are mistaken!" she laughed.

"I think not. When courage is called for, you have it in abundance. I recall very well the way you defended your principles at Pemberley, against a formidable crowd - for I think I know your temperament well enough to recognize that you _would_ find them formidable, and yet you stood fast." Seeing Kitty's puzzled look, he explained, "Your retort to Mr Hurst: 'We are not talking of wicked women, but of wicked men!' and your indignation at the plight of such men's abandoned children. It showed both great compassion and great spirit, and I admired you immensely for it."

"Oh, that? I was only angry, and was probably very rude."

"On the contrary, Miss Catherine. You were inspirational, valiantly standing up for justice in the face of indifference and hypocrisy. I took your words very much to heart. You should know that your remarks that evening were what decided the form my school should take - that it should accept the children other institutions refuse."

Kitty stared at him, overcome that her irritable outburst should have been taken so seriously. He returned her gaze a moment, smiling at her amazement, but turned away as Mr Bingley was heard approaching, and they continued their walk without returning to the subject.

* * *

><p>Immediately after dinner, Jane went to a quiet corner of the house to begin a letter to Elizabeth. After warmly greeting her and sharing domestic news, she continued:<p>

_You have asked me to acquaint you with details of Lydia's stay with us, and I will own that it has been a little uncomfortable. Mama is delighted to be with Lydia again, and they spend much time together; but at other times Lydia's excitement at meeting with us again causes her to dominate all conversation, and in what one might call a boisterous manner. Kitty suffers great embarrassment over Lydia's usual liveliness, although she does not really complain of it and is very civil to our youngest sister. It is obvious that her concern is with the way Mr Sutcliffe's opinion of her might change for the worse. I do not believe there is any such danger, but cannot reassure her on this point without acknowledging their attachment, something that Kitty seems to shrink from greatly. In fact, I believe I mentioned to you what Father said earlier, that she had most firmly denied any such possibility, even after Mr Sutcliffe had sent books for her particular use. Of course, I do not wish to force her confidence, and so I reassured her as best I could in more general terms.  
>In answer to your question, although their discourse continues to demonstrate mutual affection and rapport, I have no news to give you of any new developments between them, but I join you in expecting it before long. Father sounded the housekeeper on Mr Sutcliffe's character and the management of his household, but framing it within a light conversation on the history of the parsonage; and was pleased with what he heard of the gentleman's character. He has also been able to discover the approximate value of the living, which seems to be about £500 per annum, very generous indeed for a country parish, in addition to such an exceptionally large residence - but I have reason to suppose you are already aware of these details, if it is true that Mr Darcy's recommendation won him this living. It seems apparent that there must be additional income from some other source, presumably his family. We are not sure of how much more or what his other prospects may be, but judging from his comfortable manner of living we have no serious concerns on that score. Our mother does not seem to have noticed any partiality as yet, and mercifully, neither has Lydia, and so nothing has been said openly.<br>Lydia is aware of the offer our uncle has made, to promote him in a position with his business associate. I cannot so far learn that they have made any plans to move to London, that they have obtained lodgings there, or even that Mr Wickham has made an appointment to meet with his prospective employer. Lydia seems to believe the position will be taken if offered, but is vague on all other details. Mr Wickham is, we are told, in Bath at present with a group of friends, for an undetermined length of time. It is possible that all these arrangements have been made, but that Lydia regards them as her husband's domain and does not take particular note of them. She has made mention of the need to, as she puts it, "tidy up" certain financial matters before leaving Newcastle, but has not been explicit. I hope to find an opportunity to speak with her privately and determine their situation more exactly. I should hate to see them miss the benefit of uncle Gardiner's assistance through a lapse in care.  
>There is one other significant item of news which Lydia just revealed to me during our walk to and from town. It appears that she has recently become aware that she expects a child, probably next February...<em>


	38. Lydia in London

_"God gives us relatives; thank God, we can choose our friends."_  
><em>Addison Mizner<em>

* * *

><p>Kitty was a little relieved when Mr Sutcliffe was required to ride back to Fardale to deal with some parish business, as it spared her any risk of being further embarrassed in his presence. She accepted his assurances that a silly sister did not alter his opinion of her; indeed, she took great pleasure in his remarks on that subject, and frequently indulged in the comfort of recalling them to mind. At the same time, she was never entirely at ease when both Lydia and Mr Sutcliffe were in the room with her. Lydia had made the most of Jane's attention and her mother's, and during Mr Sutcliffe's temporary departure she determined to bestow her company mostly on Kitty. Without the burden of knowing his eyes might be upon them, Kitty was able to set aside constraint for a time, and allowed Lydia to reminisce freely about their girlhood together, make inappropriate remarks about gentlemen acquaintances in Newcastle, and laugh over anything and everything. They took a walk together to town for Lydia's sake, as she grew restless at Kingswood.<p>

"Jane has a vastly grand estate here, and must be terribly rich, but lord, she lives so quiet! Could she not at least hold an assembly of some kind, and have some of the neighbours come in?"

"They are just now becoming acquainted with their new neighbours," Kitty reminded her. They had, in fact, been invited to the homes of several neighbouring families on their arrival, but Kitty thought it best not to make Lydia aware of any social activity that included the Bingleys, as she might well demand to participate.

"Then they should have a ball! Yes, that is the way to meet new neighbours. Do you think they might?"

"I don't know. Jane and Mr Bingley are still getting used to their new home, and I think it still requires some furnishing to be complete."

"Oh, everyone is so dull now! Lizzy is playing lady of the manor at Pemberley, and even _you_ are not at all as much fun as you were at home. Perhaps it is the company you have been keeping, that Miss Darcy, and...what is his name? that young clergyman who just left, was he the same man who was visiting at Pemberley when you were there?"

"Mr Sutcliffe? Yes, that's right."

"And you went to stay with them at his parsonage! Oh, I wish I could have seen that! Poor Kitty, living at a... but I forgot! You went to stay with Charlotte at Mr Collins' house as well! You are making a regular tour of parsonages." She laughed uproariously. "I could never have imagined you making friends with clergymen. What a dreary thing! Did you say he was Mr Darcy's friend?"

"Yes, they knew each other at Cambridge, and are fairly close neighbours." Kitty paled a little, as she realized that she was reminding Lydia of the close proximity of Pemberley, and feared that she would pay an unannounced visit there as well; but Lydia took no notice.

"I'm sure they get along fine, both so proud and stern and solemn all the time." Kitty smiled to herself at such a description, thinking of Mr Darcy's kindness, and Mr Sutcliffe's unaffected manner and lively sense of humour, but did not attempt to contradict this false depiction. "Well, he is not so plain as Mr Collins, at least, though he seems awful dull and serious. Did you flirt with him, and shock him terribly?" she asked, laughing. "Did he ask you to dance at the ball at Pemberley? Remember Mr Collins asking poor Lizzy to dance, when he meant to marry her? Oh, but you never told me about Lizzy's ball! Was it terribly dazzling?"

"It was very fine indeed." Finding a subject of which they could talk with tolerable comfort, she went on to describe the decorations, the elaborate chalking of the floors, the sumptuous meal, the selection of dances, and the elegant clothing of the guests. She answered Lydia's impudent questions about the various people present, replied evasively to her complaints at not having been invited, bore her derision of Mr Sutcliffe and of Georgiana quietly, and satisfied her curiosity about any engagements or incipient romances which might have been developing during the event. This conversation took them almost into the town.

"Well, it sounds as if Lizzy at least still knows how to enjoy a ball. That is something, I suppose. Dear Wickham and I go to balls and assemblies _all_ the time. I daresay we will attend even more once we are in London. You knew we were going to London, Kitty?"

"Yes, I heard that Mr Wickham had been offered..."

"Yes, uncle Gardiner offered to do something for us at last, and Wickham is going to be in business of some kind in the city."

"Has he already been given the position? I thought..."

"Oh, Wickham was to stop in town on his way to Bath and talk to the man. I have no fear of his being refused; darling Wickham can charm anyone into doing what he wants; he knows how to talk to people. He will write and tell me what is to be done. I suppose I shall meet him in London, unless he decides to come here first." Kitty was momentarily alarmed at her family being subjected to Mr Wickham's company without warning, but Lydia went on, "No, I remember now; he will write when everything is settled, and I am to go to London to meet him at our new home."

"You have a home in London already?"

"Not yet, but Wickham said he will take care of everything. He had a friend in town who was to help him find a place."

"I hope it all turns out well for you."

"Oh, I am sure of it. We shall have such a grand time in London! There are so many wonderful diversions. Oh yes, and I shall be in town next year when my time comes, which I'm sure must be better for me than being in the country or in a village somewhere, so it is _such_ a good thing Wickham's new position is to be in London."

"When your time comes?" Kitty repeated, puzzled.

"When the baby comes. Did Jane not tell you? I am to be a mother!"

"Oh! No, I had no idea!"

"Did you not notice how I had grown so thick in the middle? My gowns are becoming quite snug, and I shall have to have some let out. It is very troublesome." Kitty was briefly unable to think of an adequate reply, and finally offered congratulations and good wishes.

Lydia laughed. "Dear Wickham was so surprised when I told him, I thought he would faint! Men are so strange about these matters. I hope all will be well this time, and not cause too much trouble. Rachel Martin was attending balls again only a month after _her_ baby came."

Kitty thought of the women she knew who were mothers of young children: Jane, Mrs Gardiner, Charlotte. It was all but impossible to picture Lydia in such a role. She felt an impulsive concern for the child who would live in the Wickham household, and from this sprang one suggestion she felt confident in making. "Have you looked for a nurse?"

"Lord, no, not yet! There is plenty of time for all that."

"Once you have moved to your new home, perhaps you should start searching at once. Jane has said she met with many who were unsatisfactory before settling on Mrs Wilby."

Lydia sighed at the tedium of the idea. "Well...perhaps aunt Gardiner will help me with that."

"Yes, she has very good sense about such things," Kitty agreed. If the awaited infant were to have a callous scoundrel for a father and a disinterested romp for a mother, Kitty felt that an affectionate and responsible nurse was even more essential than in most instances. At least, she thought sadly, the baby would likely spend all its time with its nurse, for she doubted Lydia would be the kind of affectionate mother Jane was. Likely she would be inclined to leave the child to the servants as soon as possible. So much the better, Kitty thought with some bitterness. "You should certainly have her help you with it, and have a good nurse ready to take charge as soon as the baby comes."

"That does seem like a good idea; I should hardly know what to do on my own! Yes, I shall ask her as soon as I get to town."

Lydia continued to remain more with Kitty than with anyone else through the rest of her visit, seeming oblivious to Kitty's indifference provided she had a companion and a listener, while Kitty longed for the rational speech and genuinely warm, unselfish friendship of Georgiana. She found little opportunity to enjoy anyone else's society, and had very little discourse with Mr Sutcliffe for the rest of their visit, due to Lydia's nearly constant company. She had to bear with this position only a few days more, however. The morning after their walk to town, Lydia received the expected letter from Mr Wickham, and Jane received a second one from Mrs Gardiner. Lydia waved the note about in glee. "There! Wickham has arrived in London, and all is well!"

"Does he have the position?" Jane asked.

"Yes, to be sure! They gave it to him at once. He is to begin very soon, and his friend has found lodgings for us." She read on, and presently began to frown. "The place does not sound very good. It is so small! I should write and ask him to find a better one."

"Perhaps it would be wise to accept a smaller place for now, Lydia," Jane suggested gently. "Lodgings are more expensive in London, and you would not want to exceed your income at once."

"Oh, but he will be paid more than he had in the regulars, and we still have some money set aside - I believe - I shall have to ask Wickham how much is left."

Jane tread carefully here. "There may be little or nothing left, once all your debts in Newcastle are paid. Consider, Lydia, if you take a smaller home, you will have more money left for other things. A large house in London will take up almost all your income, and you will have to economize elsewhere."

"Well, that may be! I should not want to be short of money for the sake of a house, especially once we are in town, with all the fun to be had."

"Yes, and you will shortly have a child to support," Jane added, but Lydia overlooked that comment entirely.

"Very well, I'll let Wickham's choice stand. So, I must set out for London. I _am_ sorry to leave before we have been to even one ball at your assembly rooms - but that can wait until my next visit, I suppose."

She began making plans for travelling by stage-coach to London, but Mr Bennet intervened. "You should not have to travel alone. We shall be leaving for home in a day or two ourselves, and can easily take you as far as London." Both Lydia and Mrs Bennet were delighted with this plan. Kitty was only glad that the visit was soon coming to an end.

Two days later, she endured the sweet sorrow of parting from Mr Sutcliffe, this time for a duration she could not guess. She observed him taking leave of Mary; a very brief, calm, and indifferent farewell on both sides established in her mind conclusively that Mr Sutcliffe and Mary were certainly no more than friends, and she at least departed without the painful prospect of one day becoming his sister. That was her sole consolation as she watched him, Jane, and Mr Bingley recede into the distance as the carriage moved on.

The journey was as enjoyable as could be expected in a crowded carriage where conversation was made impossible by the continuous loud chatter of two passengers, Lydia and her mother. Kitty tried to take pleasure in the scenery as she concentrated her efforts on facing separation from Mr Sutcliffe valiantly and quietly. It was a formidable task to appear unconcerned and in good spirits, but she found that setting her mind on things which were both interesting and unrelated to Mr Sutcliffe in any way allowed her to remain self-possessed.

There was a general sense of relief when they reached Gracechurch Street, and stopped at the Gardiners' home. "Lydia, I'm sure you want to stop and pay your respects to your aunt and uncle," Mr Bennet said as they alighted, "and to thank them for assisting your husband in finding a place."

"Oh, I suppose so," she agreed airily, hopping down from the carriage. She entered the house ahead of the others, noisily greeted her aunt and uncle, ignored the children's salutations, and began to talk at once about all the events of her life since leaving Newcastle. After about fifteen minutes, she recalled her one duty and thanked Mr Gardiner for his assistance to her husband.

"I was happy to do it," he replied, "provided Mr Wickham will live up to my recommendation." Lydia, of course, could not imagine her husband being anything but brilliant in his new occupation. "In fact," Mr Gardiner went on, "I believe I shall go with you when you meet with him, and ensure he is clear on the duties and obligations of this post. The work is, after all, unfamiliar to him." After some refreshment, Lydia took her leave of the Bennets and went off with her uncle, all but bouncing with excitement at the prospect of seeing her dear Wickham and her new London home.

Mr Bennet was prepared to continue their journey almost immediately, but Mrs Gardiner insisted they stop for a day or two before moving on, and their trunks were brought in. Mr Gardiner was gone for far longer than was expected, and did not return home until dinner time, looking angry and disturbed. "My dear, what on earth is wrong?" Mrs Gardiner exclaimed. "Has he lost his position already?"

"No, although I am beginning to regret my recommendation. Mr Wickham travelled to Bath with his friends, then came directly to London without first returning home. Lydia, of course, left at the same time for Derbyshire, and returned directly from there."

"So I understood. And, what then?"

"He did so to throw off his creditors back in Newcastle, who had expected him to return from his holiday before moving to his new home. He simply packed his essentials and left everything else behind. He owes rent on their house for these past two months, along with tradesmen's bills. He did not even leave the servants their wages!"

"Did he not bring their servants with him?"

"No, only their carriage driver; the rest were left behind. It seems he meant to defraud them as well. They have not been paid in some time. That means he and Lydia are presently in an empty house without so much as a boy to lay the fires. Evidently he expects to hire new servants on an hour's notice."

Mrs Gardiner sank down on a chair, shaking her head in distress. "And we thought they were becoming steady at last!"

Mr Bennet laughed mirthlessly. "Wickham never fails to come through! I, also, had thought he was entering a period of dormancy, but it seems his nature will not be repressed." He turned to Mr Gardiner. "How much does he owe at Newcastle?"

"I was not able to obtain an exact figure, but it seems to be in the region of £600. That does not include debts of honour from card games with his fellows in the regulars, which I could not even guess at."

"Gambling still!" Mrs Gardiner exclaimed. "I begin to wonder if your kindness is wasted on both of them."

"At least he will find less opportunity for gambling outside the military," her husband suggested. Mrs Gardiner did not look reassured.

"But don't they still..." Kitty began, hesitating when she wondered whether she ought to be involved in the discussion.

"What is that, dear?" her aunt asked.

"They had a large sum of money - what Lydia calls her wedding present." Conscious looks were exchanged. "Would that not resolve their debts?"

"I'm not certain there is any of it left," her uncle told her. "There ought to be, had they lived with any degree of moderation; but their house and carriage were extravagant, they kept horses and a number of servants, they entertained often, and they both spent freely in other ways. I believe their funds may have been exhausted."

"Well, well," Mr Bennet remarked drily, "I suppose Wickham should have held out for a full ten thousand pounds prior to the wedding, when he still had the bargaining advantage."

"Please, brother!" Mrs Gardiner said gently. "There is nothing amusing about this. Let us go in to dinner," she added, allowing the conversation to continue at the table, once the servants had left the room. "What are his intentions?" she asked Mr Gardiner.

"I believe he hopes Lydia's friends will once again offer assistance. Mr Wickham had been very diplomatically leading up to the suggestion, speaking of the difficulties of becoming established on the very small wages of a military man, thanking me for my help in finding him employment, indicating the smaller and more modest lodgings they had taken in London as a sign of future thrift, and obviously intending to go on to politely hint that we might discharge some of their former debts; when Lydia spoiled his cautious efforts entirely by interjecting with a blunt request, all but a demand, that we do something about their obligations in Newcastle, or to ask Elizabeth or Jane to do so. Mr Wickham attempted to regain the courteous tone of the appeal, but the effect was lost."

"Is this to occur every time they change location?" Mr Bennet asked. "What did you tell him?"

"That I would consider, and speak to him again later today."

Mr Bennet cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I am not in a position to contribute much toward..."

"No, my dear Mr Bennet!" Mr Gardiner interjected. "It is not to be expected. Lydia's annual sum of £100 pounds, added to Mr Wickham's salary from his new position, _ought_ to be sufficient for any couple who lives rationally."

"But can they be persuaded to live rationally? Do you have any sense that they have changed in that regard?"

Mr Gardiner hesitated. "They have taken less expensive lodgings; that is at least a good token. However, they still pay for the keep of their horses, which must now be stalled away from their residence as the house has no stables; and must keep a driver. There is no cause to dictate every detail of their spending, of course; but if we are to offer them help, I think we may at least object to blatant extravagance. I did not bring up such details when I was with them, but perhaps it should be taken into account."

"The sale of four fine horses, along with that of a carriage suitable for members of royalty, could likely go some way toward paying their outstanding debts," Mr Bennet suggested. "They ought not to be keeping a carriage they could never reasonably afford - not if they expect to be seen as rejecting extravagance. It is easy enough to hire a chaise in London, if it is required."

"I believe that is a legitimate request," Mrs Gardiner said thoughtfully. "It would show they were willing to take some responsibility for the debt, and to reduce their future spending as well."

"That seems more than fair," Mr Gardiner agreed. "Perhaps I should ask everyone's opinion of writing to Lydia's elder sisters about the matter."

Mr Bennet sighed. "I dislike bringing them into this, but they may wish to be involved, and to be honest, it may be inconvenient to cover such a sum without their help."

"I'll ask my wife to write, then," Mr Gardiner concluded. "She can explain such things far more delicately than I am able to."

Mrs Gardiner only laughed, and said she would write to Jane and Elizabeth immediately after dinner, and acquaint them with the situation. "I shall not request their help, but give them the opportunity to offer it if they wish."

Everyone was in agreement on this plan. "And perhaps," Mary added, "Lydia and Mr Wickham should be sent some literature on thrift and moderation. There are some excellent pamphlets in circulation, offering written sermons on the subject."

Mrs Gardiner replied patiently, "Mary, I am sure _you_ would be best qualified to locate appropriate material of that kind. Would you be good enough to take that task on yourself?" Her niece readily agreed.

Mr Gardiner informed the Wickhams that he would postpone his decision until he had conferred with the rest of the family, meanwhile inviting them to stay at the Gardiners' home until servants could be procured. Mrs Gardiner, with the help of her housekeeper, were able to locate a dour but capable middle-aged couple who were seeking a place in service together, and they were engaged immediately, along with a young kitchen maid, the latter chosen by the farsighted Mrs Gardiner for her distinctly plain appearance. Mrs Gardiner managed to convince Lydia, after much argument, that further servants were unnecessary and too expensive for her current income.

As both Jane and Elizabeth sent their replies by express, there was no long delay. Both families agreed to do their part to dispatch the Newcastle debts, with the provisions suggested. The meeting with Lydia and her husband was not a pleasant one. Lydia was outraged at the suggestion that she and dear Wickham had been living extravagantly, and railed furiously against the requirement of selling their barouche and horses. In the end, Mr Wickham saw that his relations in law were resolute, and agreed to their terms, including the request for a promise that he would abandon every form of gambling. The stupendous carriage was sold, the horses and carriage driver found new homes, and the bilked tradesmen, defrauded servants, and impatient fellow gamesters were all satisfied, belatedly but in full.

Soon after, Kitty bid farewell to her once favourite sister, hoping that her life would become more steady, her marriage at least no_ less_ affectionate, but without a great deal of optimism on either score. The journey back to Hertfordshire was a rather sad one for her, for she felt herself moving toward a home that time and her own development only made less congenial, and which no longer had Jane close by at Netherfield to offer a regular sanctuary; and moving away from the people and places she loved best - one most particularly. Reminding herself of how her most admired friends would cope helped her to remain in tolerable spirits, but she regarded the prospect of the coming months with an attitude more of fortitude than of any positive anticipation.


	39. News From Near and Far

_"I do not wish women to have power over men; but over themselves." _  
><em>Mary Woolstonecraft<em>

* * *

><p>Kitty's determined efforts to be cheerful, to remain busy and useful, and to better herself to the extent she could, were as brave as they were unnoticed. She remained occupied at all times, maintaining a mental list of pursuits which could be drawn on during idle hours. She assisted Mary in her parish work several times a week, applied her needlework to useful items for the poor, read a great deal, took long daily walks. Such entertainments as came her way were welcomed, but she managed not to pine for parties and balls when they were not at hand.<p>

She visited Maria Lucas often, to hear her raptures over her intended husband and her wedding plans, and to help her prepare her trousseau. Mr Sallow was at last introduced to her in person, and Kitty was surprised at how agreeable he was, at least as handsome as Maria herself, and somewhat more clever and engaging. His attachment to Maria seemed well established even to Kitty's cautious eye, and she was willing to wish them both joy with no reservations. She was asked to be a bridesmaid, as was Mary, and she looked forward to the upcoming wedding, which was to be as grand as Sir William could manage, and as inexpensive as his wife could contrive. The wedding was kept small, partly to avoid the obligation to invite distant relations such as Lady Catherine, which Sir William would have found gratifying but would have increased the necessary expense, and made the occasion one of anxiety for Maria, who remained terrified by Lady Catherine.

Maria spoke glowingly of her future home in Kent, which she described minutely, for she and her parents had visited Mr Sallow's home once and found it modest but quite comfortable. "Will you live close by Charlotte?" Kitty asked.

"Not so very near as to be neighbours, but no more than ten or twelve miles apart. We shall be able to visit often."

"That is very fortunate! I wish I lived closer to Jane and Lizzy," she sighed, reminded of how much she missed her two eldest sisters.

About a week after their return to Longbourn, Mary proposed a walk to Meryton to visit Clarke's. Kitty quickly accepted, glad of any activity which kept her mind and body occupied. Mary pointed out the literature which had been recommended to her by Mr Sutcliffe, and Kitty thanked her and said she would save those volumes for later, thinking they would serve as too much of a reminder for her immediate comfort. Instead, she chose a volume on natural history, inspired by the Spencers' fascinating work in that field.

As she idly looked through the shelves, a book cover caught her eye. The name of an author, printed on a clothbound volume, reminded her of a derisive remark from Mr Hurst, some time ago, accusing Kitty of having read the books of "that Wool-croft or Wool-stone woman." She picked up the book, wondering if Mary Woolstonecraft was the person Mr Hurst had referenced, and why her statements would have made Mr Hurst think of such an author. Kitty looked through the pages, more and more intrigued with every passage she scanned; then turned back to read the chapter titles. At last, more out of curiosity than any other motive, she placed the book atop her other selection, and brought both to the desk. The clerk gave her a rather disapproving look, but said nothing as he handed the two volumes back to her.

Kitty, having determined the exact meaning of the word 'vindication,' began reading directly, and found the book astonishing in both its daring and its simple common sense. A multitude of injustices and sufferings, large and small, seemed to be confronted and explained by an unbalanced treatment of the sexes. Kitty felt as if the subject was too large for her to take in, and that she would have to ponder what she had read, and how she should regard it, for some time to come. For once, she found no model on which to base her opinion, and felt all the disquiet and novelty of depending entirely upon her own thoughts and feelings on a matter of significance. She finished the book in short order, then turned back to the first page and refreshed her memory of significant passages, feeling that she had discovered an entirely new way of regarding the world.

Kitty had written letters to her two eldest sisters and to Georgiana, announcing her arrival home and outlining recent activities, and replies soon arrived at Longbourn. Jane responded to her description of the Wickhams' irresponsible behaviour and their new establishment in London with her usual mildness. She wrote,

_It seems terribly reckless of them, but recall that Lydia was married very young and without much knowledge of household management, while Mr Wickham has been in the military and has had little experience of a real home and the normal expenses which accompany it. As you say, they have already become more reasonable in their expenditures, and with time and encouragement from our aunt and uncle, I'm sure will learn to live within their income._  
><em> Mr Wickham does seem particularly profligate and unwilling to accept his situation, but I believe some of that can be explained by the circumstances of his youth. He was brought up as almost a second son to a wealthy landowner, was given a gentleman's education and the offer of a living. At the same time, while growing up on a large estate, while attending school and university, while surrounded at Cambridge by the sons of wealthy families, he remained only the son of a steward, with no money of his own and no real right to any. He had the upbringing suitable to affluence, but not the expectations. It is regrettable, but perhaps not surprising that he became envious and inclined to live beyond his means. It does not justify his improvidence, much less his other misdeeds, but it may make it easier to understand and forgive.<em>

Kitty smiled to herself at Jane's unfailing determination to think as well of everyone as she possibly could. She even admitted to herself that Jane's explanation of Wickham's extravagance made perfect sense, although she did not find it sufficient to make Wickham a good man. Her defence of Lydia, however, made Kitty wonder whether she herself would do any better, if given the management of a house. She had never had the responsibility of more than a small pocket allowance. Glad of something more to occupy her mind, she determined to learn what she could of household management, at least what could be learned by observation. She very soon recognized that her mother's style of home economy did not answer, and recalling how often Mrs Bennet had derided Lady Lucas for her frugality, chose instead to take note of the inner workings of the Lucas household as far as she was able. She found Lady Lucas more than willing to answer her questions.

Some days after Jane's letter, another arrived from Elizabeth, which was not quite so tolerant of the Wickhams' carelessness and the trouble it gave to their various relations. She confessed that she had hesitated to put the matter to Mr Darcy, but had found him to be fully resigned to assisting Mr Wickham from time to time, adding: _Mr Darcy is, if anything, more forgiving than myself. He says that every family must have at least one rascal, to teach us patience and give us the satisfaction of feeling respectable by comparison; and that he is content provided Mr Wickham never comes to Pemberley except as represented by a new list of creditors._

Kitty smiled to herself as she read, thinking that Mr Darcy might possibly be taking on some of her sister's sense of humour. The next part of the letter was dated a day later.

_I must add some sad news of an event that has taken place only last night. I'm sure you remember our former butler, Mr Spooner, who recently retired. I'm afraid his illness was more severe than we had expected, and he was to enjoy his retirement only briefly. He was taken very ill last night. The doctor was called for, but his condition worsened, and he died within a few hours. He did not even have the chance to quit his room at Pemberley and move to his daughter's home, as planned. His daughter arrived just before his death, and the rest of his family are expected later today, to make the necessary arrangements. Mr Darcy has offered to take on the funeral expenses and provide a headstone, in recognition of his long and faithful service to the family. Mr Spooner has been at Pemberley as long as Mr Darcy can remember, and it is a sad loss to everyone here. I remember that you thought kindly of old Mr Spooner when you were visiting, and knew that you would want to hear of his passing._

Kitty was, indeed, saddened to hear this news; but, from what she had heard of Mr Spooner, felt that he would not have enjoyed retirement, and may have been happiest continuing in his position until almost the end of his life. She read on to the final paragraph of the letter.

_We expect to come to Hertfordshire for a week or two in September, as Papa has asked Mr Darcy to join him for a shooting party about the twentieth of the month. 'About the twentieth' is as precise as Papa ever deigns to be in such matters, so we are grateful that he did not merely issue an invitation for autumn of this year. Georgiana is to accompany us, which I know will be welcome news for you. She sends her love, but I shall add no more as she intends to send you a letter of her own. I hope you are well and in good spirits since your return home._

This last remark, not a usual turn of phrase for Elizabeth, made Kitty wonder if there was some reason her sister felt there was cause for concern. She could think of none, however, and had to conclude that it was no more than a conventional expression of affection.

Georgiana's letter arrived the following day, expressing pleasure at her forthcoming visit to Kitty's home, and sadness over the death of their elderly servant, for whom she held much affection. She mentioned that she had spent a great deal of time since Kitty's departure at the home of Sir Joseph and Lady Wainwright, sometimes in Elizabeth's company, and sometimes, as they became better acquainted, by herself. _They are both such kindly people_, she wrote, _and so patient with my difficulty in joining a conversation, that I find myself more and more at ease with them, and able to talk freely as I am rarely able to outside my family. I can even feel comfortable when they have visitors, which is not uncommon; Lady Wainwright's uncle, Mr Gaveston, is at the house frequently, as are a few of their near neighbours. We have all become great friends. _Kitty was quite struck by this account, for she had never heard Georgiana speak with any enthusiasm about social calls or discourse outside her very immediate circle. She was glad, however, to hear how far her friend had overcome her shyness, and that she had formed new friendships she found congenial.

At dinner, Kitty mentioned how pleased she would be to see Georgiana again, and asked her father about his plans for the shooting. "Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy will both be participating, I understand; and I suppose Sir William Lucas is to come?"

"There is a larger gathering this year," her father replied, "for I have also asked the young parson from Derbyshire to be one of the party, and Mr Goulding as well."

"Mr Goulding?" Mrs Bennet repeated in surprise. "He does not usually shoot with you." Her reply allowed Kitty to recover in silence from her surprise, for she could only assume that the Derbyshire gentleman her father referred to must be Mr Sutcliffe, although she had until now heard nothing of his coming to Hertfordshire.

"Mr Goulding usually hunts in the autumn with his brother, who is ill just now, and so he will be coming along with us instead," Mr Bennet explained.

"And who is this person from Derbyshire you invited? You said nothing to me about it!"

"It is Mr Sutcliffe, whose house we stopped at on our way to Jane's; and as far as telling you, Mrs Bennet, I'm sure more than a week is ample time in which to prepare for one additional guest."

"That is not the point! And indeed, it _may_ be difficult to find space for them all, now that Jane is no longer at Netherfield, and we must provide a nursery for the baby, and...well, Kitty and Mary will have to share a bedroom while they are all here. But perhaps Mr Darcy will choose to stay at an inn rather than live with us, or even..." Kitty rather abstractedly agreed to move into Mary's room when the guests arrived, but otherwise paid little attention to the discussion that followed. With an appearance of calm, she contended with the surprise of hearing Mr Sutcliffe was shortly to be a guest at Longbourn, the great pleasure of anticipating his company, and the nearly equal trepidation at having to once more mask her true feelings in his presence. She kept her eyes on her plate, appearing to take an interest in nothing but her food, as she inwardly counted the days until the twentieth of September.

A few days before the guests were expected, Mr Bennet received an express letter from Elizabeth. After reading through it with a serious expression, he said to his wife, "Lizzy writes to tell us we are not to have the pleasure of their company this month after all. There has been a death in the family, and they are obligated to remain where they are for the present."

"A death!" Kitty exclaimed. "Who has died? Surely they don't mean their butler?"

"A cousin of Mr Darcy's, apparently the daughter of Lady Catherine."

"Miss deBourgh?" Kitty said in surprise. "How terrible! Georgiana told me that she has always been called sickly, but everyone thought Lady Catherine exaggerated her delicate state."

"It seems not. Elizabeth tells me she took a sudden turn for the worse, shortly after beginning a new regimen of treatments by an eminent London physician, and expired four days later. But here, you may read for yourself." He handed the letter over. After relating the facts Mr Bennet had outlined, Elizabeth had written:

_Lady Catherine is reportedly beside herself, and her grief expresses itself at least partly in rage, directed at her daughter's physician, personal maid, and companion, and occasionally at other members of the household. When she is not angry, she is very quiet and withdrawn, and oblivious to all consolation. What information we have is through Colonel Fitzwilliam, who is at Rosings along with other relations to offer Lady Catherine their support. I feel for her, in spite of her dislike of me, for to lose one's only child so suddenly must be a devastating blow._  
><em>It took some time to decide a right course of action for ourselves, for as you know, there is some animosity between Mr Darcy and his aunt, and they have not spoken to each other since our marriage. Georgiana has managed to maintain cordial relations, however, so it was clear that <span>she<span> at least should attend Lady Catherine and be present at the funeral. I was finally able to persuade Mr Darcy that he should also be present, and he accepted that such a grievous situation should eclipse any differences between them, at least temporarily. _  
><em>Having come to that conclusion, we were faced with the more delicate problem of whether <span>I<span> should join them. I was willing to do so, but felt some reluctance to impose myself on Lady Catherine at such a painful time, knowing how strongly she disapproved of my entry into the family. It was difficult to estimate whether my visit would be seen as a peace-offering and an act of respectful sympathy, or as one of particularly callous impudence. We consulted with Georgiana, with Colonel Fitzwilliam, and with the colonel's elder brother, all of whom are more familiar with Lady Catherine and her recent disposition toward Mr Darcy and myself. They agreed that I should, at the very least, not arrive unexpectedly at Rosings. The suggestion was that I travel to Kent but not go to the house at once, and have Mr Darcy or Georgiana enter Rosings alone and, at an opportune moment, say that I should like to also come and offer my condolences, if Lady Catherine did not object. My intention is to at least attend the funeral, which is less private and should be acceptable even in the presence of disapproval; but if Lady Catherine remains so strongly opposed to my presence that it would distress her, then I shall keep away. _  
><em>I have long hoped for a reconciliation between Mr Darcy and his aunt, but it is dreadful to see it brought about by such a tragic event.<em>  
><em>I'm sure you will forgive us for breaking our engagement under the circumstances. Please give our warmest regards to the others, and love to all the family.<em>

"What a lesson to us all," Mary remarked, "on the transience of human life!"

"Poor Miss deBourgh!" Kitty said. "She must have been ill her entire life. Do you suppose Lady Catherine will forgive Mr Darcy and Elizabeth now?"

Mary offered a useful adage from the ancient philosophers on the value of painful events in reconciling the bitterest adversaries and pacifying the resentful heart through the unity of mutual sorrow. Mr Bennet, to his credit, merely thanked her for her observation, and said he hoped it may have the desired effect in this instance.

"I am sure it will," Mrs Bennet offered, "for now Lady Catherine has no heir! She will have no one to leave her estate to except her nieces and nephews, and that means Lizzy and Mr Darcy will have a share. It is quite a stroke of luck for them, for otherwise it would all have gone to Miss deBourgh and whoever her mother had her marry."

Mary opened her mouth as if to respond, then closed it firmly, staring at her mother with a disapproving air. Kitty merely looked down at the table, blushing in shame, tears coming into her eyes at the disquiet caused by her mother's crude pragmatism, and the discomfort of thinking so ill of her own mother. Her recent reading of dear, sensible Miss Woolstonecraft provided her with a possible explanation, and perhaps an excuse, in the upbringing provided to her mother from childhood, the conventional education offered to women all but directly instructing her to be superficial and thoughtless, to develop no virtues beyond her beauty; and yet it still gave her pain. She looked up in surprise as her hand was pressed gently, to find her father looking at her, smiling in understanding and sympathy, his gesture unnoticed by Mrs Bennet or Mary. An instant later, he released her hand and returned to his correspondence and to the ignoring of his wife's remarks.

A realization came to her in passing, that such education as she and her sisters had received was likely through the intervention of their father; for she now recalled that Mrs Bennet had never shown any interest in seeing them better themselves in this way, but had encouraged them to do little more than dress well and guard their complexions. She had seen to it that they all could dance well, and had instructed them in decorum, according to her own lights, in cleanliness and other such practical concerns, and in needlework, but very little else. Memories returned from her earliest childhood, of Mr Bennet teaching Jane and Lizzy to read, and correcting their manners when their mother's instruction was faulty. She recollected his sometimes talking to his two eldest daughters of history, of philosophy, of far off lands and the study of nature. She recalled Mrs Bennet frequently protesting that it was a foolish waste of time to burden girls with such information, that he would make them too serious, and ruin them for marriage. It occurred to her that Mr Bennet must have finally grown weary of the conflict with his wife, and given up the effort at last, so that only his first two daughters had the benefit of his learning. Perhaps Mary had had a taste of his instruction, and perhaps, Kitty speculated, had spent much of her life attempting to regain his attention and respect through intensive study. Kitty herself had been taught to read and write by her two eldest sisters, as had Lydia.

Georgiana wrote to Kitty again two days later with further news. _We have returned from the burial of poor Miss deBourgh, and intend to stay in Kent for at least a week, to offer my aunt what comfort we can.  
><em>She briefly described the funeral service, which was lavish and extremely well attended, then went on,_ To our surprise, Lady Catherine not only accepted my brother's presence at Rosings, but made the first overtures of peace. She did not go quite so far as to apologize, certainly not in a way sufficient to compensate for her treatment of dear Elizabeth, but she did express regret according to her own manner of speaking, and permitted Elizabeth to join us at her home. My dear Lizzy accepted Lady Catherine's qualified amends with her usual tolerance; and her condolences in turn were received without rancour. I hope and expect that this sad event will at least have been the means of bringing this part of my family together again in tolerable accord. _

After including some minor items of news, Georgiana added, _You may be interested to hear that Rose Plaskitt and her daughter have left Pemberley. There was some thought of finding a permanent place for her here, and Mr Bingley had also offered to place her in service at Kingswood, but my brother felt that it would be unwise to have her at any home where your youngest sister may visit. Yes, I have been acquainted with her situation; after she left, Elizabeth explained to me how Rose came to be here, and who is her child's father. It caused me no distress, or rather, none for my own sake. As before, hearing of Mr Wickham's villainy only reminds me of how fortunate I am to have escaped him. In the end, Lord Wentworth found a suitable place for her on his estate, where she could reside with her daughter. A good school exists very close by, and clever little Agnes has been promised a place there when she is old enough, according to my brother's and Elizabeth's plans to help her develop so far as she is able; which offer her mother has gratefully accepted. As you took such a kind interest in their welfare, I knew you would want to know what had become of them both.  
><em>Oddly, Georgiana also concluded her letter with hopes that Kitty was in good spirits since leaving for Hertfordshire._  
><em>

The only party to these events who has not been heard from is Miss deBourgh herself. This submissive silence was as typical of her before death as after; for seldom has a child been more completely dominated by a parent, as much in thought as in action, as Ann deBourgh. Her thoughts and feelings on any matter, even those relating to her own life, had not been heard for many years, and the very function of independent thought may be assumed to have all but perished from lack of use. She expected no more from her life than to conduct herself as her mother instructed, marry when and whom her mother chose, and most likely to continue in her married life according to Lady Catherine's precepts. This was also, not incidentally, Lady Catherine's own expectation. Miss deBourgh would not have dreamed of interfering with her mother's plans, had not illness made it impossible to do otherwise. A few days later, it was an astonished Ann deBourgh who welcomed the entirely unfamiliar experience of being beyond the reach of her mother's control, for the first time in memory, and accepted the freedom offered her with unbounded joy. Mourners who attended the funeral remarked, almost without exception, at the peaceful smile still upon the face of the lately deceased young lady.

Kitty wrote letters of condolence to the Darcys and to Georgiana, also expressing sympathy on behalf of her parents, as neither of them intended to write. Disappointing as it was not to receive their expected visit, having Jane and Mr Bingley, and her beloved niece, arrive at Longbourn was ample compensation. For several days Kitty revelled in the pleasure of quiet, rational conversation with her sister and frolic with Alice, who had reached the age when she could participate in simple games and enjoy the society of friendly strangers. Mr Bingley, having greeted all his in laws and taken time to exchange greetings and news, began preparing for the shooting, along with Mr Bennet and Mr Goulding, in the usual manner, by pointlessly examining their guns, looking at and commenting upon the available dogs, and walking over the fields in which they planned to shoot. This masculine ritual took much of the afternoon, leaving the ladies to enjoy their reunion.

On the afternoon of their arrival, one more letter arrived which dealt with the sad events at Rosings. Mr Collins took it upon himself to write to Mr Bennet, announcing the event "of which you have no doubt already heard," and spending many paragraphs in describing "the tragic loss to society and the nation which Miss deBourgh's untimely passing assuredly was" and the means by which he and Charlotte had attempted, in their humble way, to assist Lady Catherine in her hour of grief. He then went on to matters of more direct concern to the Bennets:

_I must congratulate you on the termination of the deplorable conflict which had long existed between Lady Catherine and your daughter Elizabeth, and thereby with Mr Darcy. Even in the throes of grief, Her Ladyship found the strength to reconcile the two dissenting factions of her illustrious house; she has deigned to forgive her nephew's reckless marriage, and has even extended her clemency so far as to welcome Mrs Darcy into her home. I am sure you are all relieved to be no longer under the cloud which Lady Catherine's disapproval must have cast over your daughter's marriage, and I offer my felicitations to your entire family for the favourable conclusion of such an unfortunate episode._

Mr Bennet offered the letter to Kitty for her entertainment, which quite flattered her, as she had rarely seen Mr Bennet credit anyone in the family with having a sense of humour apart from himself and Elizabeth. She finished reading and shared a smile of amusement with her father, just as Mary, sitting by the window, observed a chaise approaching and called out, "Here is Mr Sutcliffe."


	40. All Is Revealed

_"Men of sense, whatever you may choose to say, do not want silly wives."_  
><em>Jane Austen, Emma<em>

* * *

><p>For some time after his arrival at Longbourn, Kitty was relieved of the burden of having to speak with Mr Sutcliffe. He greeted the entire family with a smile and a bow, thanked them for the invitation, presented Mrs Bennet with a basket of pears from one of the two pear trees on the parsonage grounds, and was almost immediately gathered in by his fellow sportsmen to discuss the next day's shooting. Their guest felt obligated to at once confess his lack of experience and skill at the sport.<p>

"I am a terrible shot, which I say not in false modesty, but as a literal fact. My aim is truly abysmal, and I have never hit a bird in my life. I thank you for inviting me to participate, and I am more than happy to join in, but it must be with the understanding that my expertise extends no further than keeping the gun barrel pointed away from human targets."

"If you can master only one skill in the area of field sports," Mr Bennet replied, "that is certainly the prudent choice. If you can also extend that courtesy to the dogs, you will do better than _some_ hunting companions I have had."

"Ha! Mr Long and that poor old retriever!" Mr Goulding laughed. "In any case, it's all meant to be an excuse for a good, long walk with no ladies in attendance; it matters very little whether you can hit anything." Mr Bingley merely laughed and agreed that the level of skill made no difference, so long as one or another of them bagged ducks enough for dinner.

The remainder of the day was taken up with the polite exchange of news, after which Mr Sutcliffe was taken to view the charity school of which he'd heard so much, and to meet Mr Swannscott. Following this, a walk to Meryton was proposed, to introduce Mr Sutcliffe to the familiar town, during which others held Mr Sutcliffe's attention almost entirely; and he, the Bingleys, Mary and Kitty all arrived back at Longbourn in time for dinner. There was general conversation during dinner, and still more afterward, broken only by a game of cards proposed by Mrs Bennet, and then the men retiring to bed sooner than usual to ensure an early start of the next day's sport. Kitty had spent the better part of a day in Mr Sutcliffe's company without being required to do much more than greet him, answer yes or no to the occasional question, and bid him good night. As he would be out with the other gentlemen for most of the following day or two, after which she would be once more accustomed to his presence, she anticipated little difficulty in calmly sharing a house with the object of her hopeless passion.

In addition, Kitty spent a great deal of time at Lucas Lodge with Maria, whose wedding preparations made her grateful for any female companion who could take an interest. Kitty's sewing skills were likewise welcome, and Kitty placed herself at Maria's disposal during the first few days of Mr Sutcliffe's visit, sparing herself still more from any necessity of spending time in his company. She was not precisely envious of Maria, but the happy conclusion to Maria's brief, effortless, and uncomplicated romance, with the first man for whom she had ever felt any real affection, made her feel a little wistful.

Kitty was having a new dress made, in keeping with the high honour of her position as bridesmaid, the style chosen by Maria in deference to her bridal stature; and even Mary had accepted the necessity of new clothing for the occasion. With the wedding approaching quickly, Lucas Lodge was a happy, busy scene of feminine occupations and concerns, which Kitty found especially soothing at this time, as well as a source of contemplation. Even the most trivial item, the most frivolous custom, carried with it such a warmth of good wishes and family affection, such significance of symbolism or tradition, that Kitty could not see the wedding preparations as trifling, but as a great human endeavour reduced to a humble form for the occasion, like a queen dressed in the costume of a milkmaid. Kitty did not share these peculiar musings with anyone; she knew of only one person whom she could trust to understand them.

The shooting was successful in general, in the sense that the gentlemen enjoyed their day, fowl enough for all were brought home, and no participants were shot in the process. Mr Sutcliffe was liked by all, and even Mr Bennet found him amusing and intelligent, and declared his company perfectly bearable. Mrs Bennet took little interest in him, as he presented to her mind neither a dignified and wealthy match for either of her daughters, nor an exciting and romantic one; and being a clergyman immediately classified him as a rather tiresome guest. That the rest of the household found him knowledgeable, well spoken, pleasant, and amusing influenced her opinion not at all, and she spoke mostly with Jane, Mr Bingley, and while he remained in the house, with Mr Goulding. Mary, who might have been willing to entertain Mr Sutcliffe, had returned to her daily work as headmistress of her school, which had recently opened for its autumn session.

Kitty, consequently, had occasion to converse with the neglected Mr Sutcliffe more than she had done since his arrival, and as she had expected, the slow and gradual increase of contact with him made their discourse almost as comfortable as it had ever been. She was able to sound him on the subject of her latest reading, and was pleased to find that he not only owned a copy of _A Vindication of the Rights of Women_, but found it to be a highly rational treatise which ought to be more widely read. "Indeed," he said with a mischievous smile, "I once contemplated sending a copy as a gift to the Hursts." Kitty joined him in laughing at the uncomfortable discussion of that evening at Pemberley, and she shared with him the news of poor Rose Plaskitt's new position in a neighbouring county, before returning to the book. They talked on, sharing impressions with growing ease and enthusiasm, laughing often, until Mrs Bennet rather peevishly suggested that they go outside and take the air for a while.

"Yes," Jane put in quickly. "Kitty, why don't you take Mr Sutcliffe to Oakham Mount? It is such a fine day, and I'm sure he would enjoy the lovely view."

Mr Sutcliffe confessed he was particularly inclined to take a long walk, and would be grateful if Miss Catherine would consent to show him the site in question. Kitty, confident by now that she and Mr Sutcliffe could converse with ease, agreed, fetched her bonnet, and set out at his side down the narrow, less traveled paths that led to Oakham Mount.

Despite her confidence in being able to chat comfortably with Mr Sutcliffe, once they had begun walking together, she found that their conversation languished. The slightly strained speech and increasingly long silences seemed to originate with Mr Sutcliffe, and so Kitty obligingly let their discourse lapse, and they walked some distance in silence. When they reached a shady, tree lined path in an isolated bit of terrain, Mr Sutcliffe abruptly stopped and turned to her. "Miss Bennet." She turned to face him, surprised by the disturbance in his voice and demeanour. "If you would permit me...perhaps this is a convenient time...that is, I very much wish to speak to you on an important matter."

"Yes, Mr Sutcliffe?" Kitty's expression became grave, as from his manner she could only surmise that he had information too troubling to share with the entire family at once.

He seemed to choose his words, then said, "I can hardly believe you have no notion of what I intend to say, and yet your sister insists that you do _not_, and she must surely know better than I; and so I can only hope that it does not come as an unpleasant surprise." Taking Kitty's look of confusion as confirmation that she expected nothing in particular, he went on. "Forgive my incoherence. I am too agitated to speak clearly, but I shall _try_ to do so. Miss Bennet, I wish to tell you what a great regard I have for you. Not merely regard, but the very deepest affection."

"You...?" Kitty stared at him, wide eyed, thinking she must have misunderstood.

"During the course of our acquaintance, I have come to admire every aspect of your character, and my admiration grows with every hour I spend in your company. It is _your_ society I delight in, above that of any other person; your company I look to for comfort; and above all, it is your good opinion I aspire to." Kitty opened her lips to speak, and closed them again, too shocked to find words.  
>"You have given me no clear sign of any great affection on your part, beyond that of friendship, but I cannot bring myself to delay any longer. I want you for my wife; you and no other, and beg you to accept me."<p>

"But...!" Kitty whispered, and fell silent again.

As he continued to describe his affection and his fervent hopes of winning her as his bride, Mr Sutcliffe could not help but perceive that Kitty's expression was not that of a maiden about to grant her hand to her suitor, but rather one of confusion and dismay. In some alarm, he hastily added, "I ask only for a chance. If you could promise to take time to consider, to _try_ to learn to love me as I love you, I could be content. I could be as patient as you require, provided I have some hope of happiness. Can you grant me that much?"

His open declaration of love convinced Kitty, at last, that she was not mistaken about his intention. "Oh! Oh, this is not right! It can't be...you can't..." She covered her face, overcome. My Sutcliffe, at a loss to understand whether her response was to his advantage or the contrary, could only attempt to comfort Kitty. He offered her a handkerchief, and urged her to take a seat upon a nearby tree stump. At length she seemed to recover her composure somewhat, and Mr Sutcliffe allowed himself to give way to anxious curiosity, and begged her to explain her meaning.

"Mr Sutcliffe," she said, trying to remain calm, "you _cannot_ mean to ask me..." She was unable even to say the words.

"To ask you to marry me? I _do_ ask you, Miss Bennet, I entreat you most urgently, to at least give some thought..."

"But...this is not _right!_" she exclaimed again. Before he could ask once more for an explanation, she rose from her seat, pacing up and down the path, in too great a turbulence of spirit to remain still. "How can you ask me...how can you say that _you_...no, it must be a lady who is at least..." Finding some slight promise of clarity in her expansion from disjointed words to slightly longer phrases, Mr Sutcliffe urged her to share her thoughts more fully, adding force to his request by threatening to fall mad on the spot if she did not. His warning had its effect, and Kitty managed to compose herself enough to speak more plainly.

"This would not be right," she said for the third time. "You _know_ it would not, Mr Sutcliffe! You must marry a lady who is your equal, one you can respect and...someone clever and well-read, like yourself; someone compassionate, and noble, and with all your sensitivity and discernment; someone who can match all your strengths and your virtues. It would not be fair to marry someone lesser; not fair to yourself, _or_ to her!"

Mr Sutcliffe was not a vain man, and while he had considered, in the past several weeks, all the possible replies, both positive and negative, which he might receive to his proposal, he had never contemplated being refused due to his own superiority. He was therefore left without a ready answer, but only for a moment. His protests that Kitty was, in fact, someone he regarded as an equal and a person he greatly esteemed, did not have their desired effect, and only caused a fresh flood of tears. Taking a gentler approach, he convinced Kitty to be seated on a stile, while he cautiously took a place on the step below her.

"Do you not recall, Miss Bennet, all the time we have spent together, talking of nearly everything under the sun? Perhaps I assumed too much. I had thought that, while I was taking such pleasure in our conversations, enjoying an openness and ease of discourse I had rarely experienced with any other person, receiving such delight from the thoughtful and candid remarks of someone whose curiosity and tastes, whose thoughts and perspective, so perfectly matched my own - as I rejoiced at finding such a perfect counterpart, I had, perhaps, too quickly presumed that _she_ felt the same kinship with me, the same satisfaction with _my_ company as I felt with _hers_."  
>Kitty said nothing, but coloured deeply and kept her eyes cast down.<br>"If my conclusion has been in error, then I apologize, and can only repeat my request that you allow me a chance to win your good opinion if I can. However... if your only objection is that we are ill-matched by nature, that your mind, your sensibilities, your character, are in any way unsuited or inadequate to _me_, I can only say that you are gravely mistaken."

She remained quiet, and he leaned closer to her. "Miss Bennet, I beg you to think back over our acquaintance, and regard it with complete honesty. I can scarcely believe that you were not, at least to some degree, aware of the affinity between ourselves, our shared perception, the thoughts and feelings we held virtually in common on so many occasions."

This last remark so struck Kitty with its veracity that she could find no answer but to begin weeping again. Hoping that he correctly read her tears as an auspicious sign, Mr Sutcliffe pressed his advantage, talking of the happy times they had shared and how much they had meant to him, of the words and actions that had earned his still greater admiration. She ceased crying, and listened quietly, still keeping her eyes averted but no longer is such obvious distress. When he paused at last, she shook her head, and spoke almost as if to herself.

"It is so hard to believe. Why should I...when you could have chosen Georgiana, who is so accomplished and clever, and so very sweet; or Mary, who also has so many accomplishments, and whom you said yourself you admire for her good work. No matter how I might have wished it, how could it ever come about? Why should you choose _me_? It is so strange..."

Feeling tolerably encouraged, Mr Sutcliffe smiled and gently took her hand. "Why? My dear Miss Catherine, I shall be very happy to spend as long as it might require to describe to you, in the minutest detail, all the charms and virtues which have won my heart. But for now, allow me simply to quote the sage: _If you press me to say why I love her, I can say no more than because she is she, and I am I_."

Kitty sniffled into her handkerchief. "Who said that?"

"Michel de Montaigne," he replied, still holding her hand, which she did not attempt to withdraw, "a sixteenth century philosopher. It is well put, do you not think?"

Kitty acknowledged that it was, finally meeting his eyes, and looking away again quickly. She consented to continue their walk, and as they slowly made their way, Mr Sutcliffe fulfilled his promise of explaining to her all the ways in which she was dear to him, how she had become so, and how greatly he cherished the hope of making her his partner in life. Having passed the initial hurdle of making his declaration, and seeing some chance of being accepted, he was able to express himself with less constraint than previously. Kitty was quite overwhelmed, for all the warmth and natural eloquence she had formerly encountered in his sermons were now employed in the service of courtship, and to such good effect, that they had not quite reached Oakham Mount before Mr Sutcliffe had obtained not only a full acceptance of his proposal, but a free and frank admission that his love had been returned for a considerable while. His joy was complete, and it was some time before he could cease expressing his gratitude and relief, and before Kitty could believe her own good fortune and allow herself to feel the happiness that had been so unexpectedly allotted to her.

Calm at last, Mr Sutcliffe paused in the shade of a tree, and asked Kitty to once more affirm that she accepted him as a husband. This she gladly did, welcoming any opportunity to reinforce the reality of it in her own mind. "Permit me, if you will, to seal our promise," he said, moving very slightly closer. Taking his meaning, Kitty blushed and lowered her eyes, but did not withdraw. He leaned forward and gently, tenderly, kissed her upon the lips. She accepted his salute without reserve, and then, unsure of the protocol in such matters but loath to let his gesture go unanswered, lifted her face and kissed him in return.

Immediately afterward, still a little overcome by the changes her life had so quickly undergone, she turned away and began once more weeping, this time gently and from joy, not distress. "I cry a great deal," she confessed through her tears. "You should know that at once. I am sometimes a dreadful crier." Whether this confession diminished her suitor's ardor, or caused him to regret his choice of partner, I leave it to better and wiser students of the human heart to conclude.


	41. All Is Made Plain

_"By all means marry; if you get a good wife, you'll become happy; if you get a bad one, you'll become a philosopher."_  
><em>Socrates<em>

* * *

><p>Kitty was left all but breathless by the surprising events of the day, and the momentous changes in her situation, to such an extent that she proposed keeping her happy news to herself for some days, if not weeks, while she took the time to adjust her mind. Mr Sutcliffe, however, confessed he could not summon the patience to allow for such delay, and having achieved his goal, wished to secure it and share it with the world as soon as possible. He entreated Kitty to allow him to speak with Mr Bennet not only that very day, but at the first available moment after their return to Longbourn, and furthermore to announce their engagement to the entire family almost at once. He conceded that she might afterward take what time she required to contemplate her new circumstances and reconcile herself to them at her leisure, but insisted he was unable to face further delay in firmly establishing themselves as an engaged couple. In no humour to refuse him anything, Kitty quickly consented, assuring him that she had no doubts, only a little bewilderment at how suddenly and completely her prospects had altered. Mr Sutcliffe, who had anticipated and planned this day for some time, was free from any sense of surprise, and better able to give himself over to happiness; and by his own high spirits, and his comfortable talk of the home they were soon to share, began to calm Kitty somewhat, and even convince her to look forward with pleasure to sharing their information.<p>

As they returned to Longbourn, Kitty went at once to sit beside Jane in a far corner of the sitting room, and took up her work. Mr Sutcliffe was immediately called upon by Mrs Bennet to give his impressions of the view he had just taken in, and he obligingly described it, saying it was a magnificent site and would surely remain his favourite. Mrs Bennet was gratified by far more praise than she had expected of such a minor local attraction, and her opinion of her guest rose slightly. He excused himself and went to the library, where Mr Bennet had established himself as usual.

Kitty, seeing him go, felt herself tremble, not with anxiety but with happy anticipation, as the reality of her circumstances continued to sink in, and the knowledge that she was to be married to Mr Sutcliffe became more and more real to her. She looked up to find Jane's eyes on her. Her sister smiled, and bent to whisper, "Do you have news for me, dear?"

Seeing that her sister somehow knew the truth, Kitty took Jane's hand, squeezing it tightly, and whispered back, "He is gone to speak with Papa!"

"I am so happy for you, Kitty!" Seeing her sister glance furtively at the others, Jane added, "I shall stay quiet, until we can all speak of it together."

They sat together, silent but basking in their shared secret, until Mr Sutcliffe finally emerged from the library. He was carrying a book, making his visit to Mr Bennet's domain seem less remarkable, but his jubilant expression, while a welcome sight for Kitty, worked against any efforts at temporary secrecy. Mary regarded him with a portentous look, but Mrs Bennet seemed oblivious to anything unusual. He sat near Jane and Kitty, opened his book in a deliberately nonchalant way, then leaned forward to whisper, "Your father would like a word with you, before we speak to the rest of the family."

She nodded. "Jane already knows," she whispered back, then rose and went to her father's study, glancing back to find Mr Sutcliffe happily engaged in quiet conversation with Jane, clearly relieved to be able to express himself to one person, at least. The door to the room was ajar, and she looked in, was beckoned forward by her father, entered and shut the door behind her.

"Sit down, my dear," Mr Bennet said. He sat a moment, looking at her with a wry smile. "Well, well, it seems I am to lose another daughter! A happy event for the most part, but I regret your leaving home just as I am beginning to know you."

Kitty did not feign incomprehension, for she, too, felt as if true filial relations with her father had barely existed until quite recently. "I know, Papa, but...you will not lose me. I shall be living in Derbyshire, close to Jane and Lizzy. You can come to see us as often as you like, and we will all come back to Longbourn sometimes, too."

"Clearly, I shall have to overcome my aversion to travel. But let me fulfill my immediate fatherly obligations, and ask you if you are quite certain you wish to accept this gentleman."

"Why, yes! Do you know of some reason I should not?"

"None at all. In fact, he is well spoken of by your elder sisters, Mr Bingley, and Mr Darcy, as well as by his housekeeper, who has nothing but good to say of him."

"His housekeeper!"

"Yes, Lizzy suggested I question her discreetly. Do you not remember the conversation?"

It came back to her. A housekeeper! The most reliable good reference of all! "But why would Lizzy do that? Did you and she suspect...something?" Her father's reference to Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy giving their opinion sank in at last. Recollections came to her of actions and remarks over the past few weeks, perhaps longer, unexplained at the time, which fell into place at last. "Did _everyone_ suspect?"

"Suspicions have been circulating for some time, my dear. Ask Jane about it. Only your mother has remained unaware - which is much to your advantage, I would think."

Kitty had to agree that her mother's consciousness of an incipient marriage would have made matters uncomfortable for everyone concerned. "But you could not have known for _very_ long, because _I_ had no idea at all until today!"

"Did you not? It seems your young man was less cautious in his expectations. But you have not yet answered my question. Are you sure of your decision? This is a serious matter, my dear. Do not hesitate to change your mind, or to ask for time to consider."

"Mr Sutcliffe has already offered as much time as I need; but I am quite certain, Papa. _He_ is the one who should be having second thoughts!"

"Not at all," Mr Bennet said firmly. "Mr Sutcliffe seems to have his wits about him; and he gave every indication of a man who knows what he wants, and has obtained it. His praise of you was so extensive, it was some time before he paused long enough to allow me to give my consent." He smiled as Kitty blushed. "Shall we deal with the more mundane aspects of this business?" At her puzzled look, he explained, "You have some idea of your intended husband's income, I suppose?"

"No, none at all."

"That is a most refined and spiritual attitude, I'm sure; but as a father, I am bound to consider your material welfare."

"I'm sure Mr Sutcliffe's income is sufficient. We have been in his home, after all."

"As it happens, you are correct. But do you not want to know precisely what income you will be provided with?"

"I suppose so. It would not make any difference to me."

"Quixotic to the last! Well, then, let me crudely brush aside your romantic sensibilities and inform you that, taking into account Mr Sutcliffe's living, his inheritance, additional stipends, and your own marriage portion, you will have about £1,200 a year to live on."

"So much?" she said in amazement.

"Mr Sutcliffe's living at Fardale is supplemented by a family allowance stemming from a highly complicated series of testaments from various relations. An elderly uncle has also granted a yearly sum on the occasion of his marriage, in lieu of a bequest, and...well, he explained it all to me, but I do not pretend to have paid much attention beyond the key fact of the income per annum. I take it the news is agreeable, despite your determination to be properly disinterested and marry for affection alone?"

"Very agreeable indeed!"

"It seems, then, that our business here is concluded. Shall we go and make the necessary announcements?"

Their news was received with pleasure by all, but with surprise only by Mrs Bennet, who, somehow or other, had never come to regard Mr Sutcliffe as a desirable prize for either of her two unmarried daughters. She had taken him as a respectable but neither romantically handsome nor particularly affluent parson whom Mr Darcy had befriended out of compassion, of little interest at the best of times, and even less when seen at Pemberley in the company of wealthy and distinguished gentlemen. The engagement having been made, however, she was well pleased at having another daughter disposed of, although her raptures were quieter than they had been for Jane's and Elizabeth's engagements, in keeping with the lesser brilliance of the match. Her approval of the engagement became truly heartfelt only when her husband had quietly informed her of the gentleman's income. The couple were congratulated warmly, and toasted during dinner; and discussion of the date of the wedding was not merely initiated, to be negotiated over the coming weeks as usual, but, at Mr Sutcliffe's urging, was settled by the conclusion of the meal. The establishment of a particular day on which she was to marry fully reconciled Kitty's mind to the reality of her engagement, and she felt free to look forward to her future happiness with no further reservations.

Letters were written, by Mr Sutcliffe to his family and friends, and by Kitty to her aunt and uncle in London, to Georgiana, and to Elizabeth. To her sister, having shared the joyful news and provided the date of the wedding, she wrote,

_I have reason to think this will not come as a surprise to you. It appears that almost everyone around me was expecting this development except myself. I might feel foolish for being so unaware, but at present I am too happy to be concerned with it._

She wrote as many details of their engagement and upcoming wedding as occurred to her; and in her letter to Georgiana, included any different ones than came to mind rather than repeating the same facts, thinking that she and Elizabeth might well compare letters. She added, _You will be reassured to know that I have received the same unassailable confirmation of Mr Sutcliffe's good character which Elizabeth once received concerning her own future husband: a statement of approval from his housekeeper! If I also have your approval, my dear friend, and Lizzy's, then I can feel perfectly free to be the happiest bride in England. I hope I shall see you both very often once I am living at Fardale. Being so close to you and to two of my sisters makes my situation all the more perfect. _

Last of all, and with some hesitation, Kitty wrote to her youngest sister. Her description of her courtship (if such it can be called when one party has been unaware it is taking place), and of her engagement, were necessarily less open and candid than those in her other letters. Kitty began by expressing her hopes that Lydia's new home, and her husband's new position, were all satisfactory, and wishing her well. After some thought, she went on to simply state that she had accepted Mr Sutcliffe's proposal of marriage, that she was very happy, and that she hoped Lydia would be free to attend the wedding. She provided the date, and the address of her future home in Derbyshire. Adding only that she hoped for her sister's blessing and good wishes, she signed and sealed the letter.

Mr Sutcliffe looked up from his own correspondence. "I'm sending a note to my friend Ogden. You remember him? He will find it excellent news, for he has been my staunchest supporter all along, certain from the beginning that I would win you at last. Perhaps you did not know that he is engaged to be married as well."

"Is he?" She laughed at this. "He once told me in confidence that he was planning to propose marriage, but had some doubts as to whether he would be accepted. I'm so glad for him! Please include my greetings, and tell him I wish him joy."

"I will." He nodded to the completed letters. "You've written to Mrs Darcy?"

"Yes, and to Georgiana. And to my younger sister Lydia last of all." She frowned down at the address in London.

"She causes you a great deal of worry," he observed.

"That is true. After hearing about how oddly her marriage was arranged, and when she was no more than sixteen...but you might understand better if you knew her husband."

"I do know him." She looked at him in surprise. "Have you forgotten that I attended Cambridge with Darcy? Mr Wickham was there as well."

"Oh! Yes, of course he was! Then you have known him for years!"

"Yes, although we have not kept up the acquaintance. I am familiar with his character, however, and his relations with Darcy. When I heard that Mr Wickham had recently married Mrs Darcy's sister, I expressed my surprise - cautiously, for I know how reserved Darcy is on matters relating to his family. I ventured to suggest that either Mr Wickham had changed for the better, or the young lady had made a most regrettable match. He replied that the latter was unfortunately true, and that it was a notably painful subject with his wife's entire family. Knowing this, I have tried to avoid mentioning it."

"Thank you, but that is not really necessary. We have all become used to dealing with Lydia and her...regrettable match. So when Lydia came to Kingswood, you were already familiar with her situation?"

"To some extent." Seeing her expression, he went on, "My only unease during Mrs Wickham's visit was due to your apparent concern that my good opinion of you would be affected. I hope I have made myself clear on that score." Kitty smiled and indicated that he had. "We all have relations who are more trying than usual. Once we are married, I shall take on my share of the Wickhams, and you must be burdened with my slightly insolent elder brother. Oh, and at some point you must meet my uncle Cyril - a person of such eccentricity, I refrained from mentioning him until our engagement was firmly established."

For all the agitation which had led up to Kitty's engagement, once it was established she felt none of the nervousness so common to brides. She anticipated her marriage to Mr Sutcliffe with happy excitement, but also with a sense of serenity. She had no apprehension about coming to live with someone unknown and little understood, or about the challenge of two diverse temperaments learning to accommodate themselves to one another. The amity and understanding which had grown between them, the genuine friendship, was not lost by the acknowledgement of their love, but only enhanced; and Kitty found herself as peaceful as she was happy.

The remaining days of Mr Sutcliffe's visit seemed all too few, and the betrothed couple took every opportunity to talk privately, indulging in long walks at least once every day, and sometimes twice. Mr Sutcliffe continued to elaborate, in detail, on every charm and virtue in Kitty which had won his heart, and Kitty listened with nearly as much embarrassment as joy, but with none of her previous disbelief. They planned their life together, the ways in which they might share the responsibilities of a church, and even their hopes for children, which Mr Sutcliffe declared would, with his wife's approval, be raised, boys and girls alike, according to Miss Woolstonecraft's notion of rational and equitable education. Not all their conversation, however, was of such a serious nature. In time, they began to compare impressions of one another over the course of their association, and Kitty was astonished at how early in their acquaintance Mr Sutcliffe had taken particular notice of her.

"You honestly never suspected I had any special regard for you?" he asked.

"Not at all. In fact, for some time I thought you took an interest in Georgiana."

"Did you, indeed! But what about later, at the time of the ball at Pemberley, or when you and your family came to my home? You must have begun to suspect something!"

"No, not even then. But in the weeks before the ball, I began to think you were becoming attached to my sister Mary."

"What! I have the greatest respect for your sister, and for Miss Darcy, but my interest in them was due mainly to their close connection with _you_."

"I thought you must admire Mary for being so well educated and accomplished. And then, you spent so much time speaking with her about her work among the poor."

"Yes, only because I wished to establish similar charitable efforts in my own parish. I am sure Miss Mary Bennet recognized that fact, even if you did not, for our discussions were always of a very practical and unromantic nature."

"But even later on, you seemed to make such a point of talking to her, asking her questions about Longbourn and her family."

"_Your_ home, and _your_ family, were what I was interested in - and they were also your sister's, as it happens."

"Then, while I do not mind in the least, I must wonder - why not ask _me_ about them?"

"To give one reason, when you and your sister Mary were together, as was often the case, it seemed only polite to ask both of you about your home and family. In most cases, your sister would provide the answers, while you remained quiet. She is a little less reserved in conversation than yourself."

Kitty smiled at this effort to avoid describing Mary as too talkative. "And what was the other reason?"

He looked a little abashed. "I wished to avoid calling too much attention to my preference for you, at least until I could be certain that I might feel free to seek your affection."

She looked up at him in surprise. "Why should you not?"

"Early in our acquaintance, I did not even know whether you might be engaged, or at least have an understanding with another gentleman."

"That should have been easy enough to discover."

"Yes, had I asked you, or asked Mrs Darcy, directly; but that seemed to me indiscreet, and likely to cause speculation; and so it took me some time to ensure that your heart was free."

"And once you had?"

"There was a second concern. I wanted to be certain that my fortunes and my position in life made me an acceptable suitor; that I could offer you a satisfactory home."

"Why should that be in doubt? You have a lovely home, and nothing at all to want for!"

He smiled and took her hand a moment. "I am delighted you regard it that way. But at first, I knew you only as the younger sister of Mrs Darcy, the mistress of Pemberley. While I find my life comfortable enough, my establishment would not be adequate for a young lady accustomed to a finer way of life."

"Surely you were aware that Elizabeth did not come from a terribly wealthy family. Think of how Lady Catherine opposed her nephew's marriage to such a person!"

"I knew of Lady Catherine's objections, but all I had heard of them is that she was offended by the family of Mrs Darcy's mother, some of whom were in trade. You must realize, I'm sure, that Lady Catherine's standards of gentility are unusually high. I knew Mrs Darcy's father was a gentleman and holder of a very ancient estate, but little more."

"You knew I had no great fortune, from the time of the ball in London. Those young men ignored me when they found out I had almost no dowry."

"Yes, that was hopeful news to me," he said with a conscious smile, "but it was not conclusive. Mrs Darcy's - and her sisters' - lack of fortune _could_ be attributed only to the fact that Longbourn was entailed in favour of another family, even if the estate she - and you - came from had been quite magnificent. Consider Colonel Fitzwilliam, the son of an earl and raised on a rich estate, but with next to no money of his own due to the vagaries of inheritance. The parsonage at Fardale might be beneath a lady from such a home, even if she had no personal fortune."

"Yes, I see," she said thoughtfully, "although I think even the finest lady should be happy to have you as her husband." Blushing at the expression of tenderness this comment elicited, she quickly went on, "It strikes me that those young men at the ball in London seemed to have a clear idea of Longbourn's value. I don't think I said so, but they mentioned the estate's exact income."

"Yes, that is interesting; apparently they have means of acquiring information which I am unaware of. I have not much experience in this kind of subterfuge. There has never been any need of it before." She smiled at this, and he took encouragement from her manner, and went on. "What little information I was able to gather seemed to imply that I was...not entirely out of my depth in seeking your hand, but it was not absolutely certain. I might have asked directly, but it seemed rude to openly request someone's income and the worth of his estate. In the end, I confessed my predicament to my sister Emily, and she told me quite firmly that I was making things needlessly difficult for myself. She offered to make discreet inquiries while we were all at Pemberley."

Kitty found his sense of delicacy in this matter more than a little excessive, but could not bring herself to object. At least she could not suspect him of being a fortune hunter! She was, however, relieved that his sister had taken a more reasonable attitude to the question. "And Mrs Spencer, no doubt, was able to tell you what you wished to know within an hour of her arrival."

He laughed. "Yes, she was quite right - I might have avoided all my uncertainty very easily. Unfortunately," he added, with a frown, "my brother Edwin became aware of our discussion, and determined to take on what he regarded as the duty of an elder brother, and investigate my intended wife."

"That was the reason for all his odd questions?"

"Yes, and I apologize once again if he was in any way uncivil toward you."

"No, I was not at all offended; I merely wondered at his great curiosity about such trivial matters. Even your sister seemed to take a greater interest in me than seemed likely." She blushed. "I had no idea that she believed herself to be meeting her future sister!"

"She was extremely pleased with you, I'm sure she would like you to know. She enjoyed meeting you, and spoke highly of you in every respect."

"I'm glad," Kitty said, feeling a little conscious. "I liked her very much."

"In fact, even my brother approves of our marriage."

"_Even_ your brother? Is he difficult to please?"

"Not terribly difficult; but he...you might have observed that he does not hold a high opinion of me."

"Yes, I had noticed it. He seems determined to belittle you. I know this sometimes happens between brothers, but I disliked it."

"I try to overlook it. Our tastes and temperaments are quite different, and he claims the customary right of the elder brother to taunt the younger. He had assumed that I would choose a wife as ineptly as, in his view, I conduct every other part of my life. He was prepared to disapprove, or at least to mock; yet even Edwin could find no fault with you, apart from..." He broke off.

"Apart from my want of fortune?" she guessed. His uncomfortable look confirmed her supposition.

Kitty laughed. Her mind returned to the day at Pemberley, when Mr Edwin Sutcliffe had confused her with Mary, and wondered what his thinking had been at the time; but chose not to refer to it, lest it cause Mr Sutcliffe some embarrassment. "I'm glad they approve. I'm sure you know that my family all think very well of you."

"Even if they did not, I think I would brave their displeasure and urge you to marry me without their approval. But it is reassuring to know that will not be required."

"Not at all. But you have not yet finished your explanation! Once you knew I was unattached, and that I was not wealthy beyond the reach of ordinary men..." He laughed at this. "...what _then_ made you hesitate?"

"Indeed, from then I did _not_ hesitate. Or rather, at that point I felt free to do what I could to win your affection, and be less guarded about my own. I waited only for some sign that I had succeeded, and I confess I doubted my own judgment in this regard. I knew I had your friendship, but was uncertain of whether you returned my feelings, or if, perhaps, I sometimes believed you did because I wished it so. You seemed to ignore my attempts to express my admiration, and every compliment was deflected; but whether from indifference or from modesty, I was not sure. My sister gave me some reassurance on this point as well, and after the ball at Pemberley, I determined that I would ask for your hand at our next meeting."

"But our next meeting was when when we came to Fardale, and you did not..."

He laughed, looking embarrassed. "No, I did not. I lost my nerve, I must admit; and was also a little reluctant to proceed while my brother was staying with me, and could be expected to find humour in the situation. I looked for an opportunity while visiting Mr and Mrs Bingley, but found none, especially while your youngest sister was present and claimed your company much of the time; and when your father invited me to Longbourn, I took that as opportune, and decided to forward my plans slightly." She nodded, satisfied. "I confess, I later reproached myself for delaying, and spent many an uneasy hour worrying that you would receive an offer from another gentleman, before I had my chance."

"Oh, there was no need of that! There is no other gentleman," she replied, and despite the awkward imprecision of her phrasing, her answer seemed to give him great satisfaction.

"I am pleased to hear it. I will tell you frankly in return that there is no other lady - nor ever has been. I have no confessions to make on that score, of _any_ kind." Kitty looked away in embarrassment as she finally took his meaning, but was grateful for the assurance. Smiling, he went on, "At this point, I believe I have acquainted you with all my feelings and intentions up to the present moment; perhaps it is now _your_ turn to be open with me, and tell me how soon the idea of my proposal might have been agreeable to you." Kitty blushed, but feeling that she could not in fairness refuse, told him all.

Mrs Bennet, who enjoyed showing off a newly engaged daughter even when the bridegroom was not to be a man of great wealth, insisted on the plighted couple joining her in calling on Mr and Mrs Phillips, the Lucases, and any other neighbours of their close acquaintance, to make the necessary announcement. Maria Lucas was particularly delighted with the news, her only source of displeasure being that she would be away on her wedding journey at the time of Kitty's wedding, and would therefore be unable to attend.

"But I shall be thinking of you on that day," she assured Kitty, "and wishing you well. So you have already seen the house where you will live! Did you like it?"

"I liked it extremely well. I thought there was nothing lacking to make for a very comfortable home."

"Only one thing was lacking," Mr Sutcliffe interjected with a smile, "and that has been amended, or will be within a few days."

"Why?" Maria asked eagerly. "What was missing?"

"A household dog. The parsonage is now supplied with one chosen by Miss Catherine herself." Kitty looked at him, mystified. "The spaniel puppy from Pemberley, which you pointed out as your favourite. It has been promised to me. To _us_, I should say."

Kitty gasped. "Oh! Is that really true?"

"Yes, and the creature has been named Daisy, according to your specifications. Daisy will be there to meet you when you arrive at...home."

"I thought you were paying no attention! That is so wonderful! Thank you!" Kitty restrained herself from throwing her arms around his neck, but did clasp his hand. "I can hardly wait to be there!"

The week ended all too soon, and Mr Sutcliffe was called on to return to his parish. Kitty's parting with him was in some ways more painful than any previous farewell, but at the same time gave her far less grief, for she now knew that any separation from him was temporary, and that only a short time remained before they would make a home together. She also had now the consolation of writing to him, and was promised regular letters until their next meeting.

Kitty received a letter from Georgiana and one from Elizabeth on the same day. Elizabeth's congratulations showed every sign of high spirits and glee, as she teased her sister a little over her unawareness of the passion she unwittingly had evoked in a poor, helpless clergyman. Her congratulations, however, were warm and obviously sincere. Georgiana's letter was longer and filled with expressions of happiness, for Kitty's good fortune in marrying such an amiable and worthy man, for Mr Sutcliffe's far greater good luck in having Kitty as a wife, and for her own pleasure at having her friend settle at such a convenient distance. She declared that no two people could be more perfectly matched than Kitty and Mr Sutcliffe, and added that she hoped that she, too, might find herself in as happy and compatible a union as her friend. This last remark made Kitty wonder whether Georgiana was actually seeking a husband or was merely a little lonely, and resolved not to neglect their friendship after she was married.

Lydia answered her own letter after a week or more, briefly and in a different tone.

_Dear Kitty,_  
><em>Lord, what a joke! I can hardly stop laughing at the idea of you marrying a clergyman! Remember how we used to make fun of them when we were at home? I hope you are not being a dunce and taking the first man who asks you, for I'm sure you could have any number of agreeable gentlemen if you liked. If you do marry him, no doubt you will liven him up, or perhaps just go away from the parsonage very often and have some fun. I shall see you at Jane's home, for I expect to go there when I have some time, and she is always most obliging and all but promised to give a ball the next time I come.<em>  
><em>London is always very jolly and full of things to do, and I like it vastly better than Newcastle. It is a little dreary here just now, because I have not been feeling well and am getting bigger all the time, and Wickham is away at work every day, and often goes out in the evening, because he says it is usual to keep up friendly relations with the other gentlemen at his place of business. He thinks the position is not going so well as he had hoped, and if you see Lizzy again soon, you could ask her if Mr Darcy is able to find anything better for him.<em>  
><em>I forgot to say congratulations and of course I'll be at your wedding if I can, and wear my pink dress with the roses on the sleeves, which I think becomes me very well indeed.<em>


	42. A Satisfactory Conclusion

_"We should not judge people by their peak of excellence; but by the distance they have traveled from the point where they started." _  
><em>Henry Ward Beecher<em>

* * *

><p>Kitty enjoyed the process of preparing for her wedding as much as any woman could, and gave herself over to readying her clothes and planning her wedding breakfast with her mother. Mary, as a bridesmaid, was given a great deal of attention, and Kitty insisted on using a portion of her father's clothing gratuity to make her sister a new gown for the occasion. Her separation from Mr Sutcliffe was made easier by the letters they exchanged. She poured her heart into her writing as never before; and his affectionate messages to "my dearest Catherine" seemed to her too eloquent for a common letter. Her little-used jewelry box served to store all his correspondence, which she took out and re-read whenever she found herself missing his company.<p>

Mr Sutcliffe travelled again to Hertfordshire to attend Maria Lucas' wedding, but regretfully told Kitty that he would not be able to make the journey again until he returned for their own wedding, as he had to ensure that matters in his parish were settled and left in good hands during the time he would be away. In view of her fast-approaching wedding day, Kitty took this news calmly enough, and in what she had learned to think of as a philosophical light.

Elizabeth, Mr Darcy, and Georgiana arrived a week early, so that the ladies could share in Kitty's enjoyment of the wedding preparations, and Georgiana could make herself ready to act as second bridesmaid. Mr Darcy made his own visit more comfortable by placing himself at everyone's disposal in running errands of any description, and so was in the house seldom over the course of a day apart from mealtimes. The arrival of the bridegroom himself, two days before the ceremony, served to take still more attention away from Mr Darcy and other guests, and he gladly took on the task of keeping Mr Sutcliffe occupied, while the ladies completed their essential tasks. The weather being clear and fairly warm for November, he even managed to organize an informal neighbourhood cricket match the afternoon before the wedding, during which Mr Sutcliffe was able to make up for his failure as a sportsman by demonstrating his athletic prowess in a different arena. Cheered on by Kitty, who had left her sewing behind to observe the game, Mr Sutcliffe allowed himself the rare indulgence of showing off.

While the happy couple were taking yet another long walk, Mr Bennet had an opportunity to speak privately with his favourite daughter, and share their impressions of the match. "You know, Lizzy, all my daughters' marriages involved a certain element of surprise - pleasant or unpleasant, as the case may be - but perhaps the greatest wonder of all is that a man would choose Kitty primarily for her intellect and her character - as Mr Sutcliffe claims to have done."

"Papa, you are too harsh toward her!" Elizabeth chided gently. "You can see for yourself how greatly she has improved. A sensible man might well admire her mind, which is not yet fully informed, but is able and discerning, although hidden under a manner which is still somewhat girlish. These weaknesses she will outgrow in time. Her character I can no longer say any ill of."

"You are perfectly right, my dear. My old habits remain; but I admit that Kitty has made great advances. Mostly, I am sure, due to being so frequently in your company, and Jane's."

"And dear Georgiana's as well." Elizabeth smiled. "Although, to be honest, I believe Kitty began to improve from the moment Lydia left home."

He chuckled. "You may be right."

"In confidence - I overheard Mr Sutcliffe talking to Darcy, in a more candid manner than he might do before either of us. His brother, it seems, had made some comparisons between Kitty and Mary, thinking at first that Mary was Mr Sutcliffe's object, and finding her a likely choice, being more accomplished and better informed than Kitty, as well as - in Mr Edwin's less than fraternal words - 'dull enough for Henry.' Mr Sutcliffe said - with many apologies for criticizing Mary - that while Miss Mary had a great deal more information, it seemed to have no profound effect upon her, but was merely retained as cold and undigested facts. However, Kitty, he said, had a mind which eagerly explored any new information or idea, and allowed it to influence her. He made a similar comparison of their characters, giving the opinion that Mary knew and understood moral law in the abstract, but Kitty felt it in her heart. He said that an open and active mind can always obtain more learning, but a prosaic mind, however well informed, cannot be taught depth. He then went on to apologize further for speaking slightingly of Miss Mary Bennet - but with all due respect to Mary, I find his comparisons apt."

"Yes, as do I, I must admit. The man knows what he is doing."

"To be fair, Kitty's value may not have been great, before she completed her 'schooling'." At her father's inquisitive look, Elizabeth explained Kitty's imaginary school, which gave young ladies all the preparation they might require for marriage and adult life. "I thought of it as a fancy at the time, but she truly has been educated, by one means or another, in all she needs to know on entering marriage."

The night before the wedding, the family retired early in order to be well rested for the next day. Even after everyone had gone to bed, there was a great deal of conversation among the various couples, most of it, naturally enough, to do with memories of their own weddings; but between the Darcys another topic was being discussed, for they had happy news of their own, which they had determined to keep to themselves until after Kitty's wedding.

"While I was in Meryton, I spoke to Mrs Gaskin..." Elizabeth whispered to her husband, who was beside her in bed.

"I'm sorry, who is she?"

"She was Jane's midwife. She took such good care of Jane, I asked if she could recommend another equally competent woman in Derbyshire."

"Surely you should ask a doctor for such information."

"From my experience with Jane, and from other information I managed to gather, I believe the midwife makes a greater difference to safety and comfort."

"Very well. Was she able to help you?"

"Yes, she advised me to contact a Mrs Baldwin, near Lambton, who works with a well respected doctor. Both have excellent results."

"I should hope so," he mumbled uneasily. "Are you certain you would not rather be in London, under the care of town doctors?"

"Very certain indeed. If I find Mrs Baldwin satisfactory, I shall pass along her name to Jane and Kitty, for future reference." He nodded, frowning. "Let us move on to more pleasant topics," Elizabeth suggested, familiar with her husband's nervousness at the idea of his wife enduring childbirth. "Have you given more thought to the child's name?"

"I still maintain that a girl ought to be named Elizabeth, for her mother," Mr Darcy said.

"Two Elizabeth's in one household?" she whispered back. "It is too confusing. What about naming her Ann, after your own late mother? That would be a fitting tribute, do you not think?"

Mr Darcy could not object to that idea, and agreed to give it some consideration. "And if the child is a boy?"

"Shall we apply the same practice of choosing parents as namesakes, and name the boy Fitzwilliam?" she asked teasingly, knowing he disliked his given name.

He smiled. "Certainly not. I've always found it a peculiar and ostentatious name. However...I was christened with my mother's maiden name, as was often done in her family. We _could_ follow the tradition more literally, and name the first boy Bennet."

"Bennet Darcy," she mused. "It is not a very melodious name."

"Perhaps not," he conceded, "although we could keep it in mind if we find nothing better."

"We might name him after your late father. His name, if I recall, was John, which is certainly neither peculiar nor ostentatious."

The name of John was agreed upon, with Bennet retained as a possible second name. "If you should later change your mind about the value of a peculiar name," Elizabeth added, laughing, "we could name our second son after _my_ father."

The wedding itself was modest but charming, the wedding breakfast pleasing, and the dancing which followed lively, for Kitty, as bride, had the duty of arranging the dances. She took great pleasure in it all, but her mother still wondered at the lack of attention her daughter paid to details of her gown, her hair, her ring, the decorations of the hall, the choice of flowers, and the admiration of other young ladies - matters which, in her mind, were the primary delights of a wedding. Kitty seemed to take far more pleasure in her bridegroom, and in the prospect of the marriage itself, than in the wedding finery and festivities. Mrs Bennet recalled with a sigh that her two eldest daughters had taken much the same point of view; in fact, she thought, it was only Lydia who had enjoyed her wedding properly.

The newly wed couple stayed the night at Longbourn, then set off after breakfast the following morning for a short tour of the countryside, including visits to any friends or relations who had not attended the wedding, before returning to Fardale and taking up the duties and pleasures of their married life. As they drive off together, let us turn away from the contemplation of their future for a moment, and survey the future lives of some of their nearest acquaintance.

Other weddings took place over the course of the following year. Miss Caroline Bingley, after considerable effort and having finally despaired of winning Lord Wentworth, was able to procure a proposal of marriage from Mr Edwin Sutcliffe. His fortune, as eldest son, was adequate, and combined with Miss Bingley's dowry placed her in circumstances which were comfortable enough, if not quite as splendid as she had once hoped. Their characters and opinions were quite similar, as both their friends and their enemies agreed - enough so to allow for tolerable amity between them. Moreover, the new Mrs Edwin Sutcliffe did not believe in interfering with her husband's leisure activities, nor in allowing him to interfere with her own; and so their chances of happiness were fair at the outset, and in fact, their marriage became in many ways quite similar to that of her sister Louisa. The wedding, it hardly needs to be said, was extremely elegant in every particular. It may be worth mentioning that the couple resided at a considerable distance from the bridegroom's younger brother, so that the brothers and their respective families never met above twice in a year.

In January Georgiana, to everyone's complete surprise, announced her engagement to Mr Gaveston, a widower in his thirties and the elder brother of Lady Wainwright. To the additional surprise of a few, she did not seem to choose him for his fairly substantial fortune, but for his kindness, and for their complementary temperaments. They lived a happy but reserved life, revelling in their mutual love of music, books, riding, nature and the English countryside, and in quietly supporting philanthropic work wherever their anonymous assistance could be most helpful. They went to London rarely, entertained seldom, and associated regularly only with family and their few close friends, a manner of living which pleased them both. Naturally, Mrs Gaveston kept up her warm friendship with her dear Kitty after her marriage. They were a happy, devoted, and most harmonious couple throughout their lives.

A third marriage during the course of the year also came as a surprise to those concerned. Colonel Fitzwilliam, during a visit with friends in Liverpool, met a young lady who, while not exceptionally handsome, was so charming, so sweet tempered, with such a perceptive and original mind, droll wit, and genuinely kind heart, that he was completely swept away, and found himself hopelessly in love before he knew what he was about. The burden of being the younger and poorer son, who could not choose to marry where he would, had never been more keenly felt. He was much relieved, therefore, to discover that the lady in question had inherited £10,000 not long before - not a great fortune, but enough, along with the Colonel's familial allowance, to marry on. He hesitated no further, but courted the young lady earnestly, and was delighted to find his attentions favourably received. Her family had some reservations as to their unequal fortunes, having seen the young lady attract unscrupulous fortune-hunters in the past; but upon learning that he was not only the son of an earl, but one of the heirs of Lady Catherine deBourgh, eventual beneficiary of a fourth or fifth part of her estate, consent was readily given. Thus it was that poor, freckled, little Mary King, who had previously endured one or two disappointments in love from men who did not recognize her true worth, finally came to have the husband she deserved.

Lydia gave birth to a daughter the following February. She intended to name the child according to her own fanciful tastes, but was gently dissuaded by her aunt from her preferred choices of Bathsheba, Aurora, or Persephone, and finally settled on the name Susannah. Lydia's approach to motherhood was as indifferent as Kitty had predicted, and the infant was cared for from the first by a wet nurse, retained and paid by the young mother's family, who remained in the home as nursemaid until her charge was of age to be sent to school. Lydia's marriage produced only one further miscarriage two years later, and from that time, there were no additional children, living or expected, in the Wickham family.

Susannah Wickham became quite a favourite among her various aunts and uncles, and from an early age spent far more time in the homes of one or another of them than with her own parents. Over the course of each year, she moved from Gracechurch Street, to Pemberley, to Kingswood, to the St Thomas parsonage, and as a result grew up among good, kind, sensible people who loved her, set her an excellent example, and ensured her upbringing was all it should be. Lydia's family undertook to sponsor her education at a fine school, and she grew into an intelligent, informed, good-natured, and truly worthy lady with all her parents' charm but none of their unfortunate qualities.

The mutual path of Lydia and her famously worthless husband took a surprising turn about a year after Susannah's birth. Mr Wickham was finally given the assistance from his illustrious brother in law for which he had long hoped. Mr Darcy happened to hear from his neighbour, a Member of Parliament, that one of his fellows was looking for a reliable assistant. At Mr Darcy's reply that such a position might be easily filled by any competent clerk, he replied, "Not at all. The person in question must have very particular qualities. He must be well educated, and have the bearing of a gentleman, yet be willing to take a post of this kind, which pays well, but not magnificently. He requires a pleasing appearance and manners. He must be discreet, able to keep a secret when necessary, and clever enough to know when he - or his employer - is being misled. He must be adaptable, clever, skilled at getting along with anyone and everyone, and have a talent for persuasion. He must also, not to put too fine a point on it, be somewhat flexible as to honesty, as it becomes necessary in the service of his nation. Such a person must be extremely rare, if he exists at all!"  
>Mr Darcy, after a moment's thought, replied, "He does exist. In fact, I am acquainted with a man who has all the qualities you have named - and he happens to be in search of a new position at this moment."<br>The political gentleman was quite excited by this statement, but only when Mr Darcy had outlined the individual's flaws, and disclaimed any responsibility for recommending him, did he agree to pass along Mr Wickham's name and address through his neighbour. The value of Mr Darcy's connection overshadowed his singular reluctance to fully endorse the candidate. As a result, Mr Wickham found himself indirectly involved in politics, the one field in which his particular qualities and talents could, arguably, be put to their best and most appropriate use. Lydia and Mr Wickham moved to somewhat larger lodgings within walking distance of the Houses of Parliament, their outstanding debts once more discharged by Lydia's relations during the move, with the understanding that the Wickhams must thereafter make their own way. Fortunately their increased income, combined with the demands of Mr Wickham's new position keeping him too busy for expensive mischief, allowed them to live within their income, if only just, and while they were forced to request financial assistance again in the coming years, they required it less often and in far smaller amounts.

Elizabeth was delivered of a healthy boy the following spring, who was christened John Bennet Darcy, Mr Bingley acting as godfather. Mr Darcy, as it turned out, was correct in suggesting that having few children at lengthy intervals was a Darcy family trait, for after the birth of the long-awaited first child, and in spite of their marriage remaining as mutually affectionate as ever, it was more than seven years before the welcome arrival of the second, a daughter.

Mary was left the sole unmarried sister at Longbourn. Without her prettier sisters to provide comparison, she was no longer the plainest of the Bennet girls, and was seen only as the very accomplished young lady who did such marvellous work among the poor. In time, she began to attract a kind of sentimental admiration. Among much of the neighbourhood, her less than brilliant musical ability was forgiven with remarks on what her talent _might_ allow, were she not continually at her philanthropic work; her plain appearance and dress explained as that of a woman who does not think of personal vanity, but lives for others; her pedantic conversation was regarded as natural to a schoolmistress and great female scholar; and even her unmarried status was taken as evidence that her constant care for the less fortunate had occupied all the time and attention which might have been given to courtship. Rumours of a past secret attachment which had ended tragically gave her reputation a melancholy charm. Mary found herself more favourably regarded within her local circle than at any time previously.

It was delicately expressed to her, by way of her father, that even should she choose to remain unmarried, the small stipend granted her following the death of her parents would be supplemented by that of her two eldest sisters, tripling the amount she would have to live on and allowing her a tolerably comfortable independence. This promise, combined with the local respect she had gained for her work and accomplishments, provided her with more satisfaction than it might to most ladies in her circumstances - so much that, when she was at last made a proposal of marriage by one of her uncle Phillips' clerks, she was far from certain that accepting his offer would be the most advantageous choice, and it took her some time and serious consideration before she was able to come to a decision.

Mr Sutcliffe, with help from generous benefactors, including several of his relations by marriage, was able to establish both his boys' and girls' charity schools, and made them models of their kind. Margaret Chamberlain was taken on as an instructor, and at last found a use for her accomplishments in an environment where she and her daughter could be welcome. Little Grace became a student there when she was old enough, and Miss Chamberlain, who remained unmarried the rest of her days, eventually became the institution's headmistress, and enjoyed a busy and contented life.

Another lady in the same difficult circumstances, Rose Plaskitt, was in service at the estate of Lord Wentworth less than two years before she was made an offer of marriage by a respectable and good natured young shopkeeper of the neighbourhood, who had no scruples about her situation, but felt her character spoke for itself. She accepted gladly, with the one provision that she would never be made to live far from her daughter. Agnes Plaskitt fulfilled all the expectations her youthful cleverness had inspired, grew to be a great lady scholar, married a professor of science, and wrote novels under a male pseudonym. She refused to ever scorn her humble origins or her affectionate mother, however, and continued through her life to make the care of women in her mother's plight a favourite object of her charitable contributions.

Their fortunes all being resolved, let us return our attention to our newlyweds as they complete their wedding journey and arrive at their mutual home, to be greeted at the door by the affectionate Daisy, who, apart from welcoming them both with enthusiasm and a great deal of noise, added a fitting symbol of loyalty and domestic felicity to the scene.

* * *

><p><em>The End<em>


End file.
